


Days to Come

by Showmethedestiel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Aromantic Castiel (Supernatural), BAMF Castiel (Supernatural), Castiel Acts Like Endverse Castiel (Supernatural), F/F, F/M, Fluff, Hand Jobs, Handyman Dean Winchester, Hopeless Romantic Dean Winchester, Human AU, M/M, Pining, Punk Meg Masters, Slow Burn, Smut, Unconventional Relationship, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-01
Updated: 2020-07-04
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:27:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 33,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24863812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Showmethedestiel/pseuds/Showmethedestiel
Summary: Castiel Novak has never felt normal in an increasingly abnormal world.Dean Winchester has always struggled with the tireless monotony of his life.When circumstance shows them each the others' universe, will they be able to take the fallout?OrThe one where Dean’s an odd-job man, Cas just moved into an old house in dire need of some TLC, and Meg’s a shameless flirt.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Castiel/Meg Masters, Castiel/Meg Masters/Dean Winchester, Charlie Bradbury/Gilda, Jessica Moore/Sam Winchester
Comments: 3
Kudos: 34





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from 'Days to Come' by Bonobo, all art by me.
> 
> Say hi to me on Tumblr at Showmethedestiel!
> 
> I hope you enjoy - I kind of lost track of the world for a few weeks there working on this. New chapters will be uploaded daily.

**1**

The first rays of sun are only just spidering over the horizon, the air still chill from sleep. Dean’s breath clouds in the air a little as he sings along to Lynyrd Skynyrd’s ‘ _Simple Man_ ’ and taps his fingers on the still-cold leather of the wheel. He doesn’t mind these early jobs, so long as his black coffee rests on his knee and good tunes are blasting through the speakers of his beloved car. He’s never been out to this part of town, on the outskirts by the river where there’s barely a stretch of road that isn’t surrounded by trees. It’s a bit farther than Dean normally goes for work but it pays well so he doesn’t have a problem with it – and if it gets him out driving for an hour before work, well then it’s a bonus.

The GPS on the dash is telling Dean the place should be nearby, but with all the trees he’s yet to catch sight of it. Finally, he spots a sign, tucked away in some bushes by the side of the road. It’s ornate, white with big black script, but it’s overgrown and muddy with algae, paint peeling from years in the sun. Dean flips on the turn signal and makes his way carefully onto the gravel drive, mindful of the undercarriage on the uneven track. He’s a fair way along the road when the house finally appears; emerging from the trees like some great castle. The sight of it makes him whistle a low, appreciative note. It’s not often he gets called out to a place like this; huge, almost oppressively so, if it wasn’t situated where it is, tucked away out of sight, white cornicing and deep blue stone walls. It even has turrets, for God’s sake; who has _turrets_?

Dean pulls up outside and cuts the engine off. Once he gets out of the car he can see three stories at least (not including the turrets). A few of the windows are cracked and the walls need a good lick of paint, but structurally the place looks okay. At least, it shouldn’t fall down while Dean has a look around. He slams the car door and grabs his duffel from the trunk, slinging it over his shoulder and fishing the keys from his pocket.

Inside, it’s a little worse for wear. The wallpaper is peeling, revealing an ugly yellow, mildewed paper, also peeling. A few of the floorboards give a little under Dean’s weight; they will all have to be replaced. The walls seem fine, wallpaper aside, and the water even runs – to Dean’s surprise – once he turns it on. A boiler will need to be installed for any hot water, and the owners will need to get someone else in to look at the electrics, but overall it’s not as bad as it could’ve been. Structurally it’s pretty much intact.

It’s a damn nice house, too, Dean thinks – or, it will be, once it’s been fixed up.

To his surprise, in the living room on the ground floor, a large pile of moving boxes already takes its place in the centre. Whoever moved here had better of gotten a damn good deal to have bought it before fixing at least the basics, never mind moving their stuff here. Dean just hopes they actually have somewhere else to live in the meantime. Finished with the inspection, and nosiness getting the better of him, Dean drops his notes on one of the boxes and flips open another, peering inside.

Bingo.

Just inside sits a pile of photos, gathered together with a rubber band. Dean picks them up and pulls off the band, begins to flip through them.

The first features a man, grinning. He has floppy, light brown hair, a bag of skittles in one hand; bottle of whisky in the other. He’s featured in the next picture too, this time more sombre, but still with a quiet kind of humour in his eyes. He’s in a suit, standing next to a woman with long, red hair and she’s smiling in her wedding dress. Beside her, the man looks most sombre of the bunch; he’s handsome, dark hair, dark eyes, immaculately dressed. Dean’s eyes catch on the fourth man, though, standing next to the groom. His hair is dark too, ruffled like someone has been running their hands through it. He’s squinting a little at the camera, as if someone has just said a joke that he doesn’t understand. His suit fits him perfectly, but his tie is on backwards. There’s something incongruous about his whole getup. For some unfathomable reason, it makes Dean smile.

Dean flips through a few more photos, in some those same faces pop up, some others feature another woman, dark wavy hair and a mischievous smile, she wears a leather jacket in all but one of the pictures, and where she bares her arms Dean can see full sleeve tattoos winding down both. It’s an interesting bunch of people and Dean wonders which of them will be living here – he counted six bedrooms, three bathrooms and a few others that could be offices or storage or whatever else.

Dean finds something intriguing about old empty houses; there’s something about them that seems to draw him in. They hold so much history, and so much potential. He’s fixed up a good few in his time, and it’s always gratifying to watch them go from dilapidated to lived-in; loved.

His stomach rumbles. Snapping the band back on the photos, he drops them back in the box and picks up his notes. Giving the place one last look, Dean walks out the front door, locks it up, and gets back in his big, black Chevy Impala – heading home in time for lunch.

***

After lunch, Dean draws up lists of everything he will need to get the place up and running, and figures out rough estimates of the cost. After that, he shoots Garth an email and attaches the files, as well as adding a note about the electricity. Before Dean can even start checking the rest of his emails, Garth has replied.

_From: fitzgerald.garth.4@fitzgeraldandsons.com_

_To: winchester.dean@fitzgeraldandsons.com_

_Thanks Dean!_

_I’ve sent the info along to the owners, along with your email address! They said they had a few things to ask. Can you get started tomorrow? They’re eager to move things along ASAP!_ __

_Garth_

Dean huffs a small laugh. Garth is a great boss, but goddamn he uses a lot of exclamation marks and emoticons.

He replies to a few other emails, clients and otherwise, and he’s just about to give up for the day when his laptop chimes with another one.

_From: c.j.novak@hotmail.com_

_To: winchester.dean@fitzgeraldandsons.com_

_Mr Winchester,_

_Our realtor, Garth Fitzgerald, passed on your information, I hope that’s alright._

_My friend and I have just moved from out of town and are currently living in a motel. We would like to move into our new house as soon as we can. As long as there is running water and we aren’t likely to fall through any ceilings, we would like to be there. Of course, if we will get in the way, or you would rather not work around us, we understand (I’m not sure how all this works, to be honest, this is our first house), however, I’m also sure you also can imagine how unpleasant it can be to live in a motel._

_Yours,_

_Castiel Novak._

Funny name, Dean thinks, and types out a quick reply.


	2. Chapter 2

**2**

It ends up being Wednesday – two days after the inspection – when Dean is finally able to make a start on the house. The hardware store didn’t have the right kind of timber for the floorboards on Tuesday, and that definitely always needs to be the starting point of the whole operation; Dean does not want to be falling through the damn floor while he’s patching the place up. He learned his lesson on that one. _Yeesh._

He pulls up outside, later than last time, the sun high in the sky. He brought the pickup today, needed the space for the materials. He had told the owners – _Castiel_ – that they can move in on Monday, as long as everything goes smoothly. He’ll bring Benny in tomorrow and the next day, and together they should finish the flooring by the weekend. He’ll give Ash a call and get him to at least check over the wiring, too. As for the boiler, the owners will have to call someone in for that, but Dean already sent over a handy list of numbers; the excellent employee that he is.

Today is Benny’s day off, so Dean’s all alone. Not that he minds; he brought along his portable stereo and a stack of CDs. Before noon, he’s bobbing his head as he rips up rotten wood and tosses it in a pile behind him.

***

Around two he breaks for lunch and sits in his truck with a sandwich and a tepid can of coke, sweating buckets despite the fact it’s not all that hot of a day. His phone comes alive next to him.

“H’llo?” He swallows down his mouthful of sandwich.

“Hey Dean,” his brother chirps down the line. “I hadn’t heard from you in a while, I just wanted to call and check up.”

“Aww, Sammy, you worried about me?”

“Shut up, Jerk.” Sam snorts.

“Bitch,” Dean replies, automatic. “I’m good, Sammy. Busy with work, you know how it is.”

“I do. But still, I had to hear from Charlie that you split up with that girl, Lisa was it?”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Yeah. I don’t know what to tell you, Sam, it wasn’t that serious.”

“Still, I thought we agreed to try. Y’know, to be friends.”

If Sam was here, he’d be giving Dean puppy-eye-look-#36.

“I _am_ trying, Sammy. It just takes some getting used to.” There’s a moment of slightly awkward silence. Dean clears his throat. “So, how’s Jess?”

That distracts him. Sam audibly lights up. “Oh she’s good. We’re good. Really good. I think I’m narrowing it down on the ring front – it’s between this really nice one with rubies and this other one with—“

Dean’s distracted by the crunch of tyres on gravel. He glances out the window and sees a beat up, red Toyota Corolla pull up behind him.

“Listen,” he interrupts. “Not that I don’t love listening to you talk about jewellery, Sammy, but I gotta go. Work stuff. I’m sure you’ll make a great choice, she’ll love it.”

Sam scoffs, but says, “Thanks Dean. Call me soon, okay?”

“Sure thing. Talk to you later.”

Dean hangs up and stuffs the phone in his pocket before getting out of the truck. He raises his hand in greeting to the short brunette getting out of the vehicle. He notices her leather jacket and it sparks something in his memory – she’s one of the people from the photos inside (which really, he shouldn’t know about, so he packs that information away).

“You Castiel?” he asks.

She smiles at him and shakes her head. “Meg,” she replies, extending a hand. “Meg Masters, co-owner of this shithole.”

Dean chuckles and shakes her hand. “Nice to meet you.” He waves a hand at the house. “And don’t worry, soon enough we’ll have it all fixed up and squeaky clean.”

Meg sends him another smile. She’s pretty, Dean thinks, especially when she smiles. Her eyes are dark with eyeliner, and she has a silver stud below her lip, right in the centre. Dean kind of digs the punk look, though. “I don’t doubt it,” she’s looking at the house now.

“So, can I help you with something?”

“I just need a few things from the boxes inside,” she answers. “We didn’t know how long we’d be living in a motel.”

Dean nods. “Be my guest. I gotta warn you, though, I’ve started ripping up the floor in there.”

“No problem,” she says. “I won’t be long.”

***

Dean carries on working as Meg rummages through the boxes, shoving things into a bag she brought with her.

Dean turns down the music. “So, it’s just you and your friend moving here?”

“Mhmm,” Meg nods, looking up from the boxes and over at Dean, “All the way from Illinois.”

“Two states over, huh?” He rips up another rotting plank. The ones here on the first floor are the worst, where the groundwater has seeped up into the wood. Some of the upstairs flooring will be fine as it is.

“Clarence wanted to get away.”

Dean nods, and then looks up with a small frown. “Clarence? I thought his name was _Castile_.”

“ _Castiel_ ,” Meg corrects, and huffs a small laugh. “It is, but I call him Clarence.”

***

Meg stays for a half-hour or so, chatting easily with Dean. She’s a nurse, but hasn’t found a job yet here in Lawrence. Dean likes her, so he gives her his friend Tessa’s number. After Dean got into an accident a few years back, she’d nursed him back to health, he’d flirted. After all was said and done they became friends and nothing more. But she’s a good person, and he knows a good word from him will help Meg get a job.

Feeling lifted from his good deed and talking to Meg, Dean gets twice as much done in the afternoon than he’d expected. Now home, exhausted and stinking with sweat, he strips off his clothes and steps under the spray of the shower.

Once he’s showered, fed, and has a beer or two in him, Dean flops down on his bed and opens up his laptop. It’s still open on the last page he was looking at: _KantCon, Kansas City_. It’s a table top game convention that Charlie, one of his best friends, sent him a link to a few days ago, with an attached message saying only, ‘ _Please?_ ’.

Dean’s been looking into it, noncommittal so far. He switches over to looking at his emails, and – speak of the devil – he has one from Charlie.

 _From:_ [ _c.brad.bury@gmail.com_ ](mailto:c.brad.bury@gmail.com)

_To:_ [ _Winchester.dean@fitzgeraldandsons.com_ ](mailto:Winchester.dean@fitzgeraldandsons.com)

_Dean, you gotta join Gilda and me tomorrow night!! The roadhouse. 8pm, if you don’t come I’ll tell sam about that time you drunkenly flirted with a grandma. I’m serious._

Dean rolls his eyes. Charlie swore upon her Star Trek IV poster signed by Leonard Nimoy that she would never tell. He had been blackout drunk and she had looked young! Until she pinched his cheek and she said she was flattered but he reminded her of her grandson.

There’s a reply from Castiel/Clarence, too.

_From: c.j.novak@hotmail.com_

_To: winchester.dean@fitzgeraldandsons.com_

_Hi Mr Winchester,_

_Thank you for your email. Monday would be great, I have contacted the plumber you suggested and he will install the boiler on Friday. I’m not sure if you’re the right person to ask, but I haven’t made many contacts here in Lawrence yet, and you seem very knowledgeable. I’m looking for some cheap, second hand furniture; do you know anywhere that might sell some?_

_Thanks again,_

_Castiel Novak._

Dean smiles, taken aback by the man’s politeness, and types out a response.

_From: winchester.dean@fitzeraldandsons.com_

_To: c.j.novak@hotmail.com_

_Hey Castiel,_

_Call me Dean, Mr Winchester makes me sound old. That’s no problem at all, if I get it done any sooner I’ll let you know. As for the furniture, I think I know a place. My friend Benny runs a shop part-time, his prices are pretty decent and if you tell him I sent you he’ll knock a few bucks off._

_If you have any more questions, I’m happy to help._

_Dean._


	3. Chapter 3

**3**

It had been a long day, but with Benny helping out they had managed to lay all the floorboards that needed replaced. Tomorrow they would do the windows, patch up the walls wherever they needed it, and start on whatever else they could get through. Ash had been there, too, in the afternoon, making a mess ripping copper wire and who-knows-what out of there. Dean was glad to have the company; both Benny and Ash are good friends, and it always perks him up when they’re on a job together.

Their progress means that Castiel and Meg may be able to move in before the weekend, though Dean would be working on less urgent bits through next week. It happens – sometimes clients don’t mind him being there, are just happy to be in their new place, or want to be out of their old one. Though, normally they wait until Dean has done a bit more cleaning up.

Dean scrubs a hand across his tired eyes and sighs. He cannot be bothered going to the Roadhouse tonight, but he promised Charlie he would, and he is self-aware enough to know he’s really been sliding head first into the hermit lifestyle lately.

***

The bar is crowded, for a Thursday, but he spots Charlie and Gilda in their usual booth, arms around each other. A few others are with them; Ash is there as Dean knew he would be, along with Jo, who must have a rare night off tonight, and finally, to Dean’s surprise, Kevin.

He slides in beside the latter and claps him on the back. “Mrs Tran let you outta the cage for a night, I see?”

Kevin smiles at him with tired eyes. “Actually, she’s out of town for a couple of days.”

“Woah,” Dean grins widely. “So you’re being all rebellious and coming out with the gang?”

Kevin rolls his eyes and it reminds Dean of Sam at that age. “I’m twenty-one, Dean, I can do what I want.”

“And yet you live with your mother,” Jo points out.

“I’m saving up! University is expensive, guys.”

“Yeah, don’t gang up on him, guys.” Gilda pouts, sliding free from Charlie for a second to put her arms around Kevin, who – hilariously – blushes.

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean waves a hand. “We know. You need to get out more, though, man!”

“Speak for yourself, Dean.” Charlie smiles over at him. He knows she’s glad he came.

“You know me, Charlie, addicted to the job.”

***

They laugh, and chat, and drink, and Dean’s eyes are just beginning to droop a little from tiredness and booze, when Charlie gets a text.

“Ooh!” Charlie squeals a little and shakes Gilda’s arm. “Cas is coming.”

Gilda smiles, “Awesome, he can meet everyone.” 

Dean rubs a hand over his face. “Sorry guys, I’ve gotta hit the road.”

“Noo,” Charlie pouts. “My friend is coming; I think you’ll like him!”

He shakes his head. “I’ve got work early tomorrow, I’m beat.”

“Stay for one more drink,” Gilda adds.

“Sorry,” Dean says again, and stands, wrapping them both in a hug and kissing Charlie’s hair. “I’ll come out again soon, promise.”

Charlie frowns at him but lets him leave. “You better, mister.”

Outside, the air is cold compared to the warmth of the bar and Dean wraps his jacket around himself to fight the chill. On the way to his car, Dean passes a man who catches his eye. It’s like he knows him, but he can’t place it. He looks into startling blue eyes for a moment too long and the stranger gives him an odd look. Dean looks away, shakes his head. There’s no way Dean knows him; maybe he only caught his attention because of his stupidly attractive face. A few paces later, though, he looks back, finds himself watching a pair of tight black jeans covering a pert ass disappear into the Roadhouse.


	4. Chapter 4

**4**

_From: c.j.novak@hotmail.com_

_To: winchester.dean@fitzgeraldandsons.com_

_Dean,_

_Thank you so much for the furniture recommendation, Benny was very pleasant and I got almost everything I need at a very reasonable price. Now it’s only the moving I need worry about. Do you know when we will be able to move our furniture in yet?_

_P.S. My friend Meg mentioned she met you the other day at the house. She seemed very taken with you, and I apologise sincerely, but I may have shared your email address with her. I just wanted you to be prepared._

_Many thanks (and apologies),_

_Castiel Novak._

***

_From: winchester.dean@fitzgeraldandsons.com_

_To: c.j.novak@hotmail.com_

_Hi Castiel,_

_Always happy to help. I come bearing good news, your place should be liveable on Saturday. I’ll be there for a couple of hours in the afternoon to check over a few things but if you and your friend want to move in then, it shouldn’t be a problem._

_The floors that needed to be replaced have been done, an electrician has been in to check nothing’s gonna spontaneously combust, and your plumber should be in tomorrow. I’ll attach you an invoice for mine and Ash’s services._

_Yeah, I met Meg, she seemed nice. Should I be worried?_

_Dean_

***

_From: masters.demonic@gmail.com_

_To: winchester.dean@fitzgeraldandsons.com_

_Hello there, Dean._

_Clarence gave me your email. Well. I may have_ persuaded _him out of it. Potay-to potah-to._

_Anyways, here’s my number. Call me, we should go for a drink sometime._

_;)_

_Meg._

***

_From: winchester.dean@fitzgeraldandsons.com_

_To: masters.demonic@gmail.com_

_Hi Meg,_

_You made poor Castiel feel bad about that, tsk tsk._

_Though I appreciate the email, I have a pretty strict no-clients rule (which sometimes I do question). Shoot me another email when I’m done with the house._

_Dean_

***

_From: c.j.novak@hotmail.com_

_To: winchester.dean@fitzgeraldandsons.com_

_Dean,_

_That’s great news, thank you! I appreciate everything you’ve done for us. I will come around on Saturday to take a look._

_As for Meg, she’s fine, really. She can just be a little… intense, for some people._

_Castiel Novak._


	5. Chapter 5

**5**

Dean’s in the kitchen making coffee. His back aches a little from his week tearing up floorboards, but he’s well rested from sleeping in. Technically, he isn’t supposed to work on Saturdays, but most weeks he ends up doing one odd-job or another – he can’t stand leaving something unfinished until _the next week_.

Ergo, he finds himself flipping through the catalogue from the local hardware store, looking idly at wooden railings.

He wonders if he’ll meet this Castiel guy today. So far, the man’s remained somewhat elusive, but from their emails Dean figures they’d get on.

He also can’t help his curiosity; Meg had seemed about his age, and he guesses Castiel is too – what are two people in their twenties/early thirties doing in a six bedroom _mansion_ after moving from Illinois? Meg said she was a nurse, so what kind of job must Castiel have to be able to afford a place like that? It may be run down, but Dean wouldn’t be surprised if they paid over a million for that house. Guy must be _rich_ -rich.

***

Dean gets there a little later than he meant to – he had gotten distracted emailing back and forth with Charlie about whether or not he would be joining her and Gilda next week for film night. When he pulls up, the red Toyota from before is already parked outside.

Though he has a key, he knocks for once and stands back on his heels. He wonders if Castiel will answer the door.

He doesn’t.

“Dean!” Meg grins at him, and then steps aside. “Come on in. Welcome to our humble abode.”

Dean chuckles and follows her inside. “Thanks, Meg.”

“Love what you’ve done with the place,” she leads him to where two folding chairs sit next to the pile of boxes in the living room, and sits down. “I no longer have to watch my step everywhere I go.”

Dean remains standing. “Good, ain’t it?” He chuckles. “Soon enough this place will look great. I mean, the walls need some new wallpaper, the banisters all need replaced – which, by the way, I brought a catalogue if you wanna pick something out for that…” Dean trails off when he notices the smirk Meg is giving him. “What?” he asks, a little more self-consciously than he intended.

Meg just grins and shakes her head. “You really like your job, huh?”

Dean shrugs. “It’s alright.”

“When Garth recommended some random guy to fix up our house, I’ll admit, I was a little dubious.”

“Heh, can’t say I blame you.”

“But I’m impressed, Dean, truly. You really know your shit.”

“Are you flirting with me, Meg?”

She winks salaciously. “No more than usual, sweetheart.”

“You know my rule.”

“I don’t do rules.”

Dean gives her a look. “I figured that.”

“Anyway, I figured a little flirting doesn’t count. I took your rule to mean no banging clients.”

“Well, yeah. I guess a little flirting doesn’t hurt.”

“Which begs the question,” Meg continues, shifting in her seat to face Dean completely, her gaze boring into him. “Where do you draw the line? Making out? A little over-the-clothes action, is that okay in Dean’s rulebook? What about _mouth-stuff_?” She makes a point of the consonants in ‘mouth-stuff’.

Dean feels his cheeks heat a little and he clears his throat. “You sure are persistent, huh?”

“And you’re hedging.”

After a pause, he replies. “Yeah, I am. I gotta get to work.” When he reaches the doorway, he turns. “But to answer your question, yeah – I draw the line at blowjobs.”

Meg gives this little surprised, impressed look and salutes Dean before he leaves to get on with his work.

***

He doesn’t see her again until an hour later as he’s packing away his tools. He was only finishing up a few floorboards and ripping out some siding. Meg’s been bringing boxes up to one of the bedrooms as he worked. He catches her as she’s grabbing another one.

“So uh, Castiel not dropping by today?” he asks.

She shrugs. “He might later. I think he’s moping about town looking for the cheapest moving truck. We still have some furniture at that store – Clarence said you recommended it, actually – anyway, thanks for that because boy, that man sure was pretty. Plus, he let us keep our furniture there ‘till we could take it away.”

Dean takes a moment to absorb the information dump. “Yeah, Benny’s a sweetie. Well, uh, how much stuff have you got?”

Meg thinks for a moment, and then lists off: “Two bedframes, one mattress, a fridge, and a table. Why, you know of someone?”

Dean’s brain absolutely does not get tripped up on ‘one mattress’. Friends can share beds; he knows that, he and Charlie have done it countless times. But then, Charlie is gay. He knows Meg isn’t gay. Is Castiel…?

He shuts that train of thought down quickly. “Well,” he shrugs. “I got a free afternoon and a pickup.” He sniffs. “And I think my hourly rate is a burger and a good cup of coffee.”

Meg raises an eyebrow. “You askin’ me out, Winchester?”

Dean huffs but smiles. “Nah, just making a friendly offer.”

“I ain’t gonna turn that down.” She shrugs, and then turns to him, arms crossed. “Why are you being so nice, anyhow? You can’t possibly do this for all your customers or you’d never get any paid work done.”

“You’d be surprised,” Dean replied honestly. “But, I dunno, you seem cool. This house is interesting. Besides,” he adds, “I’m yet to meet your mystery friend – and at this point I’m kinda intrigued.”

Meg’s mouth turns upwards at the edge slightly in a knowing smirk, but Dean doesn’t know what she knows. “Clarence _is_ pretty mysterious.” She shrugs on her leather jacket. “Let’s go, Dean-o. We can get burgers after.”

***

They take Dean’s pickup, and he’s glad he cleaned it out last week. It’s a forty-five minute drive to Benny’s shop, and they chat easily. At one point, Meg calls Castiel, but Dean only hears one side of the conversation.

“Hey Clarence. I’m with Dean Winchester. Mm hmm. The very one. Listen, how’s it going on the moving van front? That’s what I thought. Well then, just as well I’ve found our solution. Dean’s got a truck, he’s gonna help us move the stuff. No, he just wants a burger in return.”

“And coffee,” Dean butts in.

“And coffee,” Meg amends. “Yes Clarence, it is nice of him,” her lips curl up into a sly smile. “I might.” She gasps in mock offence. “I would do no such thing!”

Here, Dean hears the first of the elusive Castiel – a quiet, crackly, deep, deep, chuckle.

“Alright,” she says. “Dean here’s been _dying_ to meet you.”

Dean rolls his eyes.

“Mhmm. Alright. Yep. See you later, ‘gator.” She hangs up and turns to Dean. “He’s on the other side of town, he’ll be a while. We’d better load things up without him. He’ll join later.”

“Mysteriouser and mysteriouser.”

Meg snorts. “Whatever you say.”

***

“Dean!” Benny wraps Dean in a bear hug as soon as he catches sight of him.

“Benny,” Dean slaps him on the back.

They part. “And… Meg, isn’t it?” he extends a hand to her.

“Ah, he has a good memory too,” she winks and clicks her teeth. “The full package.” They shake hands.

“You’re hard to forget,” Benny drawls.

Dean slaps him on the arm. “Benny. You got a wife, man.”

He’s met with a chuckle. “We’re barely even flirtin’, you prude.”

Meg lights up a little at this. “He is a bit of a prude, isn’t he?”

“Alright, alright, what is this? Gang up on Dean hour?” Dean definitely isn’t blushing, nor is he pouting.

“Pfft, just teasing,” Benny claps him on the back. “Alright, I take it you’re here for you and your… _friend’s_ furniture?” He puts a strange emphasis on ‘friend’, and turns to Meg.

“You betcha.”

Benny leads them through into the back, stacks of furniture tower above them in rows. Dean of course has been here many times, but Meg seems intrigued, running a finger along wood panels and table tops.

They reach the back, and Benny leans down, sliding up the metal sheets of the garage door. Dean, by experience, has already parked his truck just outside. He can see a pile of furniture a little separate from the rest that looks like their stuff – just as Meg said, two pretty nice looking wooden bedframes, _one_ mattress, an old but robust mint coloured fridge, and a rectangular, mahogany table. He wonders just how much of a discount Benny gave them – this is nice stuff. Upon watching Meg he wonders if she earned some of that discount herself.

Benny’s a people person. He really doesn’t turn much of a profit running this place, but he meets a lot of interesting folks, and a lot of the furniture is donated to him, or he gets for pennies.

***

It only takes the three of them maybe fifteen minutes to load up the truck, and Meg definitely pulls her weight. Now, Dean’s fastening the bungees, giving them a final check – he does _not_ want a rogue fridge tumbling down the highway, taking out some poor bastard – and then they’re saying goodbye to Benny. They managed to stack everything up, since the bedframes could be dismantled, and they won’t have to take another trip.

Once they’re in the cab, Meg smirks at Dean. He’s starting to think that’s just her resting face. “Just as well you’ve got a big truck.”

Dean shrugs. “Need it for the job.”

“You know what they say about men with big trucks.”

“High gas bills?”

Meg snorts.

“So, uh, should we wait for Castiel?” Dean asks.

“He’s heading straight to the house; he had a few errands to run. He’ll meet us there.”

“Alright, let’s head off, then.” Dean gets the strange impression that Castiel is somehow avoiding him, even though that’s crazy – they’ve never even met.

*******

They end up stopping to pick up takeout – Dean gets his burger and coffee, Meg gets falafels (Dean is somewhat surprised to learn that she’s vegetarian), and she gets Castiel another burger. The sun has just set as they pull up to the house. The lights are off and the driveway empty. Dean stubbornly ignores the subtle pang of disappointment he feels.

Once inside, Meg flips on the lights and leads them to the folding chairs in the living room. The pile of moving boxes is the size it was when they left, so Dean assumes Castiel hasn’t been home. They sit down and Meg fishes in the takeout bag, hands Dean his burger. He drank the coffee on the way.

Dean hesitates before taking his first bite, burger midway to his mouth. “Should we wait for Castiel?”

Meg huffs a small laugh and shakes her head. “Don’t bother. He comes and goes at his own pace. He’s kinda like a stray cat.”

A laugh escapes Dean at that, and they dig into their food.

***

Once they’re well into their dinner, comfortable in the silence of their enjoyment, both are startled by a sudden banging on the door. Meg stands and walks over to the door, unlocking it and yanking it open. Dean hears her say,

“What, you forget your key?”

An irritated voice retorts, “Yes. It’s at the motel.”

“Dumbass.”

Meg returns, followed by a man; dark hair, sticking up at all angles like someone has been running their hands through it, blue, _blue_ eyes, piercing, like they can see right through him, right into his soul. He turns to Dean and the corner of his mouth quirks up just a little.

“You must be Dean,” he says.


	6. Chapter 6

**6**

_‘Damn, that voice’_ , is Dean’s first thought. It’s deep enough to feel it in bones. He pulls himself together enough to reply, “And you must be Cas.” Castiel tilts his head to the side at this like a confused bird, and it sparks something in Dean. “Hey, I remember you – I saw you outside the Roadhouse the other night.”

He gets a squint for that, before recognition flashes over Castiel’s face. “Yes, I remember.” There’s a silence that threatens to become awkward before Cas adds, “I only remember because I thought you were very attractive,” and sits cross-legged on the floor, picking up his burger and digging in. 

Dean feels heat creep up his neck and he _knows_ he’s blushing, but luckily no one is looking at him.

Meg laughs. “Well, now we’re all on the same page,” and sits back down in her chair. “What’d I tell you, Clarence, we got ourselves a real Don Draper fixin’ up our house.”

“I don’t understand that reference.”

“Hold up,” Dean says, pointing a finger at Cas. “You haven’t seen ‘ _Mad Men’_? Dude, you have got to, it is an _experience_. I have the box set; I can lend it to you if you want.”

“He’s not exactly a pop-culture aficionado, I’m afraid,” Meg says. “Trust me; I’ve tried to introduce him to all sorts, to no avail.”

“Meg,” Castiel fixes her with a withering look. “The last thing you tried to get me to watch was _‘Casa Erotica’_.”

Dean snorts and tries not to choke on his burger.

“Hey,” Meg defends. “You know who put me up to that? Your brother. And you know what else? It was fucking funny.”

Cas rolls his eyes.

“That is,” she continues, a devious glint in her eye, “It _was_ funny, until you started enjoying it.”

Two gazes are drawn to Dean; this time he _did_ choke on the burger. He barks out a laugh.

Castiel turns back to Meg. “Well, yes, then it definitely turned into something other than funny. Did you ever tell Gabe how his little prank turned out?”

“Oh yeah,” Meg raises her eyebrows. “He laughed his ass off and then high fived me.”

“Of course he did,” Cas mutters.

Dean knows he’s missing out on the joke but he kind of doesn’t mind – Meg and Castiel’s easy chatter is strangely welcoming to be a part of.

***

Once they have all finished their food, they make their way to the truck and begin unloading it. They start with the fridge, as it’s on top. Dean takes the front end and Cas the back, while Meg gets the doors for them.

Castiel has taken off his jacket and rolled up his shirt sleeves, and Dean’s eyes are drawn to his straining forearms – taut and lithe and surprisingly strong.

They manoeuvre the fridge into the kitchen, just off the living room. The previous owners have left granite counters that will need replaced – unless Meg and Castiel are okay living with deep gouges in their surfaces – and a sink, and that’s it. It sure is one hell of a job, this house, and Dean wonders if they are equipped to handle the overhaul.

Once it’s in place, Castiel opens the door and looks into the empty, unlit shelves and looks inexplicably pleased with them, even going so far as to lightly run his fingers along each one. ‘ _Each to their own’_ , Dean thinks. He takes note of Cas’ long, careful fingers, so unlike his own beaten and calloused ones. It raises a question that Dean has been pondering.

“So, Cas,” he says, and Cas drags his attention from his new favourite appliance. “What do you do for a living?”

For some reason, Castiel seemingly has to think about this. After a beat he waves a hand dismissively. “Oh,” he says. “Not much of anything. However,” his face lights up beautifully, “I’m hoping to keep bees in the future.”

Dean looks openly surprised at this and he knows it – not at the beekeeping, Cas is already such an incongruous character it would take a lot to throw Dean – but at the apparent lack of job, and ergo, income. “If you don’t mind me asking, how’d you guys afford this place?”

Cas shrugs nonchalantly and says simply, “It’s a long story.” He doesn’t look uncomfortable at the question, but he quickly adds, “Shall we go and get the table?”

***

They put the table in a dining room just off the entrance hall, visible from the front of the house through large bay windows, and bring the two folding chairs through too. From the outside you would almost be able to tell the house is lived in; almost. One bedframe is taken to a bedroom on the second floor – already housing a pile of the boxes from below – Meg’s room, Dean assumes. They decide to assemble it at a later date as it’s already nearing eleven p.m., they are all shocked to discover.

To Dean’s surprise and his back and legs’ displeasure, Castiel has picked a room at the top of one of the turrets to sleep in.

As he and Cas are lugging the main frame section up five flights of stairs, Dean comments, “Man, you are going to regret pickin’ this room. You know you’re gonna have to lug all your stuff up here.”

Cas grunts in response.

“And,” Dean ploughs on, “What if you bring someone home – you think they’re gonna want to climb damn Everest to get to your room? Have to be a pretty good lay to be worth it.” Dean would be embarrassed at his comment if he wasn’t so tired and if Castiel wasn’t so _Castiel_.

“Or I could just fuck them on our new table,” Cas responds, tone deadpan, as if maybe this is something he’s already considered. “Or the floor, or up against the wall…” he trails off as if to insinuate _et cetera, et cetera_.

Dean swallows and feels himself blush once again. He can’t very well be expected _not_ to picture all three situations, now, can he?

Luckily he’s saved from an inevitably flustered reply by Meg calling up from just below them, carrying the headboard. “Hey!” she shouts. “Shared living spaces and I get to join in, mister, them’s the breaks.”

Castiel’s only response is a low chuckle, and there isn’t quite enough humour in it for Dean to know if they’re joking or not. Hell, with everything he’s learned about them, he wouldn’t be all that surprised.

***

Finally, all that’s left to bring in is the mattress.

“We are not bringing it up those stairs,” Meg warns Castiel, who frowns.

“It’s my mattress, I bought it, it should go in my room,” he argues.

“If you can get it up there yourself, you’re welcome to.”

An over-dramatic sigh escapes Castiel. They have a minor staring match for a few moments before he seemingly resigns and rolls his eyes. “Fine, we’ll put it in the living room for now.”

Meg smiles, victorious, and they all turn to lift it from the bed of the truck. It’s massive, queen-size, memory foam that Dean’s honestly a little jealous of. This also meant that getting Cas’ bedframe upstairs had had the added headache (or, more accurately, shoulder, back, and thigh ache) of it being _freaking enormous_.

Once it’s been dumped unceremoniously on the floor beside the boxes because they are all exhausted by this point, Dean breaks out in a yawn. “Alright guys,” he says, smiling tiredly. “I’d better head. It was nice hanging out with you, though, and good to finally meet you, man,” he smiles a little bigger for Cas, who returns it with an upward tick of his mouth.

They walk him to the front door. “I’ll be here at eight on Monday to start stripping the walls – I’ll do the edges later in the day – which won’t make too much noise so there’s no need to get up for my sake, and hey – both of you take a look at that catalogue I gave Meg and pick out some banisters for those death-trap stairs. If there’s anything else you’re interested in from there, let me know.”

“Thank you, Dean,” Castiel says sincerely.

“No problem, man. Have a good night,” and with that he’s walking back to his truck, exhaustion seeping into his muscles as soon as he’s on his own. He gets into the driver’s seat and scrubs a hand over his eyes, trying to encourage them to stay open; to little avail.

As he’s about to pull away onto the driveway, he glances into the dining room through the window which, as all their windows currently are, is curtainless. The table sits in the centre of the room, looking lonely with only its two cheap chairs to keep it company, but Dean can see it could easily be a really nice room with only a little effort.

Dean’s eyebrows creep up when he sees Castiel backing up to the table, knees buckling when they find it, hopping up a small way to sit atop the mahogany. Meg slinks into the space between his legs, open and waiting for her, easy like they’ve done it a hundred times before. Meg trails a hand up his leg and he catches her lips in a fierce kiss.

Dean averts his gaze, focusing instead on driving away. He feels a small pang of jealousy, although he’s honestly not sure whether it’s for Meg or Castiel. He quashes it down without examining it. _‘Clients_ ,’ he reminds himself. He allows himself to briefly wonder about Meg so openly coming on to him, and, now that he thinks about it, Castiel was definitely flirting with him a little all night. He thinks. But he resolves _not_ to think about it – he knows as well as anyone how complicated and varied human relationships can be. He doesn’t pretend to know what goes on privately between people, and it wasn’t like either had _cheated_ with Dean or anything. He shakes his head. He’s too tired for this shit.


	7. Chapter 7

**7**

_From: tessa.reapor.85@gmail.com_

_To: winchester.dean@fitzgeraldandsons.com_

_Hi Dean,_

_You need to keep in touch properly – don’t think that sending pretty nurses my way is a suitable substitute. Adam and I are having a barbecue on the 15 th, you should come along, invite Charlie and her partner too, if you like. _

_Anyway, just letting you know I’ve given Meg Masters an interview. She’s well qualified; I should almost thank you for sending her my way, depending on how the interview goes. Seems nice too, if a little rough around the edges. Where did you find this one?_

_Talk soon,_

_Tessa._

***

_From: sasquatch88@hotmail.com_

_To: winchester.dean@fitzgeraldandsons.com_

_Hey Dean, I attached a pic of the ring I’m buying Jess. I know you’re not ‘into jewelry’ or whatever but I thought I’d be friendly. Have you spoken to Bobby lately? He says he hardly sees you these days what with your job and everything. You should give him a call, I think he misses you (and we both know he’d never admit that to either of us)._

_Also, do any of these dates work for you? Jess has some time off and we were thinking of a visit/vacation._

_13 th-16th March _

_21 st-23rd March _

_31 st March – 4th April_

_Sam_

***

_From: sasquatch88@hotmail.com_

_To: winchester.dean@fitzgeraldandsons.com_

_Dean I know you don’t use your personal email but at least reply to me on this one, ffs_

***

_From: c.j.novak@hotmail.com_

_To: winchester.dean@fitzgeraldandsons.com_

_Dean,_

_Meg and I have decided on the varnished walnut railings with the matching ‘spindles’. Whichever style is cheapest._

_I had a good time on Saturday, thank you for putting up with Meg and me for so long. It was nice to talk to someone here._

_See you Monday._

_Castiel_

***

_From: singersalvage@mail.com_

_To: winchester.dean@fitzgeraldandsons.com_

_dean, you better appreciate this e – mail jiggery pokery, I don’t understand any of it. Hwo do I erase on this damn thing? I’m damn glad I got adam to do this for the business. Anyhow, call me what in the damn hell is an emoticon oh hell I give up. I’m sending this damn thing call me_

_Respectfully,_

_Bobby Singer,_

_Singer Auto Salvage_


	8. Chapter 8

**8**

Dean arrives as promised at eight on the dot Monday morning. His Sunday had consisted of lazing around of the couch watching Star-Trek DVDs and ordering a pizza for dinner. Sam would give him an earful for eating takeout two days in a row but Dean couldn’t care less. Well, okay, maybe he noticed a little extra softness in the mirror that evening and added spinach and salad to his grocery list. But he’d never admit that to his brother.

There’s still a chill in the air at this time of year, but the sun on his back is already heating up, and Dean can feel that soon enough physical work’s gonna start to suck.

He uses his key to slip inside, carrying his toolbox along with a dust mask and safety goggles. He puts them down just inside the door and listens for any sign of life, unsurprised when he hears none. He grabs his stepladder from the pickup too, and then gets to work covering sockets and switches.

Dean works quickly, prides himself on it, actually, and is already done with the first floor by midday. The kitchen had never been wallpapered, and he had already done parts of the job last week when patching up the walls with Benny. He finds himself working on one of the smaller empty bedrooms before lunch. He is about half way through when he hears voices, and he’s about to call out when he realises they’re not talking to him.

“You going to take a shower?”

Distantly, he hears Castiel reply with a rumble of confirmation. “I need one after last night.” He sounds like he’s just woken up – his voice impossibly even lower than normal.

Dean feels his face heat and he feels bad for eavesdropping, but it’s not like he can cover his ears or something. No, that would be ridiculous.

Meg chuckles darkly. “I think we both do.”

“House this size I’m sure there’s room for two in the shower,” the reply comes.

“Mm,” Meg says. “I checked, there sure is. Lead the way, Casanova.”

Dean hears the slap of a hand over cloth and a pleased hum from Meg and then they’re gone again, disappeared into the big house to find a shower.

***

He’s just finishing that room when he hears footsteps approaching, and he sees, out of the corner of his eye, Castiel pause by the doorway, towel slung casually around his waist, wearing nothing else. He can feel eyes on him as he works and Dean wonders if Cas is realising that Dean has been up here for long enough to have heard him and Meg’s conversation. When he glances up, however, Cas is simply watching him with consideration and some intrigue.

Dean flashes him a winning, Winchester grin. “Morning sunshine.”

Castiel’s only reaction is a very slight smile, one that Dean’s already getting used to. Cas doesn’t go for big shows of emotion on his face or in general, and Dean’s okay with that, he’s already learning alternative tells: for example, the warmth and curiosity in his eyes.

“It’s twelve fifty, Dean,” he replies.

Dean has been resolutely keeping his eyes on Cas’ face, despite liking what his periphery sees. Here, he rolls his eyes, and allows himself this excuse to check Cas out, just briefly.

The towel rides low on his hips, Cas is slender but not skinny, dark but not tanned, smooth but not unblemished. There’s a freckle above is left nipple. Dean’s been looking too long. Shit. Abort, abort.

Cas is smirking at him, it’s subtle, but Dean sees the amusement there.

He clears his throat but Cas speaks again before Dean can. “Do you need any help?”

“Nah,” Dean shakes his head and stands from his crouched position, knees cracking in protest. “Just finishing up here, I was about to grab a bite of lunch. You’re welcome to join me,” hey says, awkward moment dissipated, washed down through the floorboards.

Cas just makes a considering face and then wanders off again down the corridor towards the stairs. Dean shakes himself out of it and then takes off his protective gear, shaking flecks of wallpaper from his hair. He’ll be finding it in there for days.

***

Castiel doesn’t end up joining him for lunch, but Dean enjoys it nonetheless, sitting outside on the bed of his truck in the sun. Meg comes outside when he’s nearly finished, black jacket slung over her shoulders, car keys jingling on her finger.

“Dean-o!” She grins at him and wanders over. She stops a hair too close to him; Dean catches a whiff of sweet, deep perfume. “I meant to thank you. That cute friend of yours offered me a job. I got a trial today, and then I’m in.”

“That’s great,” Dean smiles a genuine smile and claps her on the shoulder. “Tess is tough but fair. She’ll be a great boss.”

“I’ve had a pretty swanky vacation, but I kinda miss it.”

“Yeah? What kind of nursing do you do anyway?”

“Psychiatric.”

Dean raises an eyebrow. “Rewarding?”

Meg shrugs. “Interesting.” She shoots him a winning grin. “What can I say? I’m a people person.”

“That’s one way of putting it.”

“Anyway, I’d better go. If you see Clarence, tell him to get his ass over to the grocery store, we have literally no food.”

“Yeah, no problem.”

***

He doesn’t see Castiel again until he’s about to clock off. The first two floors have been finished, and he stayed an extra half hour to get it done.

Cas is in sweats and an old baggy band tee when Dean sees him pad down the stairs in bare feet.

“Hey man,” Dean says, catching his attention. “I’m just leaving, but uh—“

Dean’s cut off by a cell phone blasting Christina Aguilera’s ‘ _Candyman_ ’. Cas sighs and pulls it out of his pocket, casting an apologetic smile over at Dean.

“What do you want?” There’s a pause, then Cas blinks – once, twice. “He _what_?” His voice is low and more dangerous, it sends a shiver through Dean, and he’s ashamed to admit it turns him on a little too. Ca’ nostrils are flared as he stands looking out one of the back windows onto their overgrown garden. “Gabriel. Stop talking. Where is he?” Another pause. “I am _not_ moving again. No matter what. I will kill him first.” Coolly, with a dark, simmering anger, Castiel hangs up and puts the phone in his pocket. It seems as if he’s forgotten about Dean entirely when he strides away from the window.

“Hey, Cas, wait—“ Dean has a hand on Cas’ shoulder before he can think twice about what he’s doing. Cas still isn’t looking at him, his icy gaze set on the front door. Dean swallows down a sudden wave of nervousness, can feel the energy thrumming just under his hand, below the shirt and below the skin. The intensity makes him shrink back a little, but his hand remains steadfast. He really doesn’t know this man very well. For all he knows, the threat in that phone call could have been sincere.

After a painfully long stretch of silence and stillness, Castiel looks down at Dean’s hand on his shoulder. “Let me go, Dean.”

Dean thinks it’s an odd way of putting it – Cas could leave without any problem at all, Dean is hardly _restraining_ him. He catches a narrowed eye. “Just, hold on a minute, Cas,” he says, as if talking to a spooked animal. Castiel still looks about one second from walking out that door and ripping somebody a new one, so Dean continues. “Just – take a breath. Okay? Don’t do something you’re gonna regret.” Dean knows the feeling all too well, the white hot rage, all-encompassing, flickering behind the eyes. Maybe Cas can sense this, can sense the solidarity, recognition.

Still, he says nothing, but Dean feels him relax minutely, and he looks to the floor. “I have to go.”

Dean nods. “Okay. Alright, yeah.” Reluctantly, he takes his hand back, fingers restless with the desire to touch again. “Listen, it’s dark out, and I’m pretty sure Meg took the car. Let me drive you?”


	9. Chapter 9

**9**

It’s only been little over ten minutes, but Dean is antsy, feet tapping on the floor of the cab. They didn’t talk on the way there, though Dean was brimming with questions. He could sense Cas seething quietly beside him the whole drive, and thought it best not to poke this particular bear. Or, maybe more accurately, bee-hive. Dean snickers quietly to himself for a moment before sobering once again.

Every time someone leaves the revolving doors of the hotel, Dean’s heart kicks up a notch, but he lets out a sigh of frustration every time it isn’t Cas. Admittedly, this is without doubt the most exciting thing that Dean has done in months, and he can’t help that it gives him a little thrill to be waiting out here; the getaway driver. Meg and Cas, whatever they are to each other, really are something – and, just maybe, they are something that can pull Dean out of whatever work-obsessed rut he’s been in for the last couple years. That being said, the time he spends at their home is _work_. But, he argues, baby steps.

When Cas emerges, it’s been close to an hour, and Dean had resigned to answering his build-up of text messages. When Cas tears open the door of the pickup, Dean hurriedly stuffs his cell in his pocket.

Sitting down heavily in the passenger seat, Castiel no longer looks righteously angry like before. Rather, his eyes slip shut for a moment while he takes a breath. “Let’s go,” he says once they reopen, more gravel in his voice than usual.

Even in the dark of the evening, Dean can’t help noticing Cas’ bruised and sticky knuckles, the split in his lip, and the red-purple beginning to bloom above his brow. He (impressively) manages to keep his mouth shut for most of the drive home until they’re driving along the wooded road not far from Cas’ house.

“What happened in there, man?” he bursts out, giving Cas a helpless look.

There are several long moments where Dean doesn’t think he will get a reply. “Before Meg and I left Illinois,” he says finally, “I was in an… unfortunate circumstance. My family –well,” he seems to catch himself. “It was complicated. But we got out, made our way here, with a few stops along the way. But my cousin – Uriel – he followed us. I knew it was possible, but I didn’t know he would actually go through with it.”

“Why would he follow you?”

Castiel's tongue darts out to wet his lips and looks out of the window. “He, and some others who are, unfortunately, bound to me through blood, are looking for evidence to condemn me.”

“What kind of evidence? Condemn you for what?”

“To tell you the whole story would take all night,” Cas then adds, “And several bottles of whisky. But, in short, not everyone in my family is a self-righteous _dick_. My uncle, Chuck, he’s what some would call eccentric, but he always had a soft spot for me. So, when shit hit the proverbial fan in the family, he executed part of his will early, some legal loophole to do with estrangement. Anyway – he gifted Meg and me the house so we could get away from it all. The rest of my family was less than happy about that, and they seem to think there is a way to take the house from me. To take everything.” He looks at Dean. “Didn’t you wonder how we could afford a place like that?”

Dean shrugs. “Yeah, I wondered. But I deal with all kinds of people, man; I’ve learned not to judge and not to be surprised.”

Cas lets out a small chuckle at that. “Even hedonist, good-for-nothing hippies, running from an all-powerful family of religious, nut-job, pricks?” 

“I’ll admit, that one’s a first,” he chuckles. “I wouldn’t call you a ‘good-for-nothing hippy’, though. I think you’re pretty awesome.” Though Dean is staring resolutely at the road he can feel Cas’ eyes boring into the side of his face. He’s glad it’s too dark for his blush to be seen. When Cas says nothing Dean adds, “So, that guy back there, you didn’t… I mean, is he okay?”

Castiel snorts and looks back to the road. “He’s not dead, if that’s what you’re asking. He’ll be fine.” Then, after a beat adds, “Well, after a few stitches and maybe a cast or two. He deserved worse. I doubt they will bother me again.”

“I'm sure he did deserve it,” Dean looks over at him. “But I’m kinda glad you didn’t kill him. I’ve heard jail can be pretty shitty.”

They pull up outside the house and the lights are off, and Dean can’t see a car parked outside. Meg must not be home. “You guys got a first aid kit in there?”

“Doubt it,” Cas replies, “Though Meg might have one stashed away somewhere.”

“Right,” Dean says decisively, turning off the engine and taking the keys out. “Let’s go.” He grabs the travel-size first aid kit he brings to every job and gets out the truck.

“Dean,” Cas says, eye-roll audible even in the dark, slamming the door of the pickup behind him. “I’m fine. I’ll be fine.”

“C’mon, Cas, let me patch you up. You could have a concussion for all I know, and your nurse friend isn’t here to keep an eye on you.”

“Dean, I’ll be alright, really. I’ve had worse.”

Dean looks him in the eye. “I won’t be able to sleep if I let you go off inside just like that. At least let me take a look.” After a moment, for good measure, and because he knows how to deal with people like this, he adds quietly, “please.”

He sees the moment Cas relents, shoulders sagging just slightly. “Alright, whatever floats your boat.” He turns and crunches across the gravel to the front door. “But if you’ve got some kind of medical-slash-injury fetish, I’d rather you just tell me.”

Dean snorts in laughter and they go inside.


	10. Chapter 10

**10**

Dean orders Cas to go wait in the bathroom while he rummages around a box marked ‘toiletries’ looking for any more supplies. He finds a much better stocked first aid kit and brings it up to the second floor bathroom. He finds Castiel rubbing a hand over his eyes in an uncharacteristic moment of tiredness as he sits on the countertop. In a moment, though, his face is schooled into its usual blank slate, eyes on Dean.

“You don’t have to do this,” he says quietly, watching as Dean sets the box down beside him.

“I know,” Dean says, and then smiles up at him.

Castiel squints in a calculating manner, but says nothing more. Dean opens up the box and takes out some gauze and saline solution, wetting the gauze. Slipping into a more professional headspace, he takes one of Castiel’s hands in his, and starts dabbing the lacerations. The knuckles have already started to swell, and Dean can see some nasty bruising starting to form. Despite the damage, up close he can see Castiel’s hands are smooth and slender, sure in their movements. Dean is incredibly delicate as he works, and once he’s finished with the right hand he moves onto the left, careful not to look up at Cas’ face, though he can sense Cas is watching him.

Once both hands are done, Castiel lets them drop to the counter either side of him. Strangely missing the contact, Dean busies his hands by getting out some bandages and Arnica cream, and finally, finally, looks up at Cas. Part of him is surprised to see the usual, inscrutable stare, but another, larger part of him is thankful, afraid of what he might find underneath.

He clears his throat. “I’mma start on the face now.”

Cas nods.

Dean’s hands are (miraculously) steady as he raises them to Castiel’s eyebrow. The bruise there has already started to darken and spread to the hollow under his eye. Somehow, Cas’ eyes look a harsh, electric blue in the dim florescence of the bathroom, and Dean allows himself a moment to just _look_. After all, Cas does enough of it himself. But, he has a job to do.

There’s a small split in the skin amongst the bruise, and Dean applies a butterfly bandage.

When he glances down at the split lip, Dean becomes suddenly aware of their position; he has slowly moved closer to Cas, ending up between splayed knees. It’s incredibly suggestive, intimate, and Dean knows he should step back. There’s no reason he even needs to touch Cas’ lip – it isn’t a bad cut and it will heal fine on its own. Or, he could hand the gauze to Cas, let the man do it himself.

He doesn’t, though, only raises his arm and applies gentle pressure to pink, soft looking lips. The give a little under the pressure. Castiel’s eyes flutter shut and Dean can feel hot breath from his nostrils on his hand as he moves, slowly, gently. Cas’ throat bobs as he swallows. Dean realises he has put his free hand down on Castiel’s thigh to brace himself.


	11. Chapter 11

**11**

Somehow, Dean had remained blissfully ignorant of the tension in the room until that moment, but it sneaks up on him all of a sudden, in one great wave. His hand drops slowly from Cas’ face, the two of them locked in an unsure, but undeniably heated, staring contest.

“I should get going,” Dean says, but doesn’t move his hand.

Castiel is silent, eyes boring into Dean’s.

It should be unnerving, the way Cas sometimes just doesn’t answer him, but it isn’t. Right now, the only thing Dean feels is want; i courses through him where he stands, glued to the spot. There’s something so incredibly magnetic about Cas, there is no way he can drag himself away. 

Instead, he tosses away the gauze in the general direction of the trash can and places his free hand on Cas’ other thigh, just a little further up than the last. He sneaks a glance at Castiel’s lips, despite having been staring at them moments before. In his periphery, he sees knuckles turning white with the effort of gripping the countertop on either side of Cas.

“Dean,” Cas grits out, an octave lower than normal, and _boy_ does that voice blow any lingering doubts Dean was having out of the water. But it’s said like a warning.

Eyes not wavering now from the lips just inches from his, he replies, “Yeah, Cas?”

Cas exhales slowly, clearly trying to remain in control, and the struggle he seems to be having goes straight to Dean’s head. “You don’t want—“

The front door slams shut and they spring apart like loaded coils as Meg shouts up, “Clarence, I’m home.”

Irritation is plain on Castiel’s face, but there’s also – to the Dean’s confusion and his ego’s displeasure – a hint of relief. He slides down off the counter and pokes his head out the open bathroom door. “We’re up here, Meg,” he calls down.

“’ _We’_?” Meg replies, a smile in her voice. “I noticed Dean’s truck out front. You guys getting’ it on? Can I join?” Her footsteps are coming up the stairs now.

Dean clears his throat, drawing Castiel’s attention back to him. “I should go.” His voice comes out croakier than he’d hoped. “Make sure Meg keeps an eye on your injuries, alright?” He puts a hand on Cas’ shoulder and squeezes, then he’s out the door.

“Dean,” the single syllable makes him stop and turn back to Cas, who is giving him another inscrutable look. “Thank you.”

Dean isn’t sure what exactly he’s being thanked for, but he nods and carries on his way.

When he meets Meg in the corridor, he manages a tired smile. “I was just heading off,” he explains.

Meg pouts. “If you must, Winchester.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Dean chuckles. “Oh, and hey, don’t let Cas sneak off upstairs before you have a word with him.”

He leaves Meg looking at him curiously and heads down to his pickup, all of a sudden his limbs have become dead-weights and he feels like he just ran a marathon. _‘Christ_ ’, he thinks, _‘what a night_ ’.

***

He doesn’t know if he’s relieved or put out that he doesn’t see Cas the next day.

Wednesday, he’s out on another job – the Adlers’ deck had fallen in after the rain on Sunday, and apparently after Dean’s stellar job on their roof last year, Mrs Adler would trust no one else to do it. Dean’s a little glad to be clear of the house; it gives him some time to think without constantly wondering if Cas will wander by in nothing but a towel.

He can’t help it. He feels a little (or maybe, deep down, more than a little) jilted; even though he balks at the feeling. 

Cas doesn’t owe him anything, nobody does. And yet, he can’t shake the feeling, that crawling, gnawing frustration at what happened. Cas wanted Dean – he could see that clear as day. He’s never felt such an intense look of desire before on anyone. They way Cas was gripping the counter so tight, Dean’s surprised he’s still got all his fingers.

And yet.

“ _Dean, you don’t want—_ “

Damn Meg, interrupting at the worst moment.

 _Dean_ doesn’t want? What, was Cas high? He sure doesn’t seem the insecure type – why the hell wouldn’t anyone _want_ Cas? The man is sex on legs; that hair, begging to be pushed down into a pillow, those lips – Dean’s touched those lips now – how can he be expected to just forget about them? Forget his desire to feel them on his own?

He huffs in frustration and realises he’s just been kneeling with a hammer in his hand doing nothing for the last ten minutes. He chucks the hammer in his toolbox and stands, rubbing his aching knees.

He’ll be finished early, despite his distractions, and he dithers over whether he should go back and keep working on Meg and Cas’. Garth pretty much lets Dean keep his own hours, since normally that means more overtime than any sane person would elect to do, but at times like this it works to Dean’s benefit. It’s an unconventional arrangement he has with the realtor; Garth is almost as much of a workaholic as Dean is, and he’s got all sorts of little side projects aside from selling houses. Ash is technically employed by him part time, and gets sent out to whoever needs their wiring fixed, their breaker panel replaced, or their email set up. Garth has the connections and his clients’ trust, Dean and his co-workers have the skills. It works out, and it sure beats bussing tables at the roadhouse.

***

Correct in his estimation, Dean’s done with work by four, and decides to take a break for the afternoon. He goes home and makes himself some beans and rice, and after that he sits with a beer in front of the TV, stewing in his own emotions.

Eventually, he gets fed up with himself and turns the TV off, tosses his bottle in the recycling, and goes to take a shower before an early bed. He can’t seem to get away from thoughts of Cas, though. In the shower he feels steam like hot breath on his neck and can practically hear the husky voice behind him. He has to quickly turn the shower spray to ice cold; and he absolutely does not let out an embarrassing yelp.

In bed, he relents. Wraps a hand around himself and, in the dark, the safe quiet dark, indulges in his fantasies.

Cas – up against his side, whispering low and dirty in his ear – his hand in place of Dean’s setting a harsh pace.

Cas – on top of Dean – writhing, his lithe, runners body sweaty and slick against Dean’s, his cock hard and hot against Dean.

Cas - taking Dean from behind – kissing sweet reassurance into his neck as he comes.

Cas’ name is on Dean’s lips when he does come, shameful and breathless into his hand. He sleeps well after that.


	12. Chapter 12

**12**

_From: winchester.dean@fitzgeraldandsons.com_

_To: c.brad.bury@gmail.com_

_Yeah yeah, Charlie, cool your boots, I’ll be there tomorrow. I had a good time last week. You don’t have to harass me about it._

_How’s that shed repair doing?_

***

_From: c.brad.bury@gmail.com_

_To: winchester.dean@fitzgeraldandsons.com_

_Jeez, Dean, do you never stop thinking about work? The shed’s great, thank you again. Gilda’s set up a little workshop in there that you’d be proud of – if you need any trinkets let her know (but don’t tell her I called them trinkets, pretty please)._

_I know, you always like it, but yes I do have to harass you, or you will never come. Thursday nights at the roadhouse are the envy of kings._

_By the way, an old friend is in town. You missed him last time but he says he’ll come tomorrow. I think you’ll get on._

***

_From: winchester.dean@fitzgeraldandsons.com_

_To: sasquatch88@hotmail.com_

_Heya Sam._

_Ring looks awesome. Jess is gonna be the happiest gal (oh my god, Sammy. I just realised. This is gonna be the first ever recorded bigfoot wedding! Someone tell the news!!)._

_First dates work for me. I can get the 13 th-14th off and I don’t work Saturdays anyway. It’ll be great to see both of you. _

_Dean_

_***_

_From: c.j.novak@hotmail.com_

_To: winchester.dean@fitzgeraldandsons.com_

_Dean,_

_Thank you for the invoice. I’ll get the money to Garth tomorrow._

_See you tomorrow._

_Castiel_


	13. Chapter 13

**13**

With only the upper floors to go, Dean’s work seems to fly by on Thursday. He divests the other three turret rooms of their scabby wallpaper before heading to Cas’. He stands at the bottom of the spiral staircase, staring upwards, waiting for he knows not what. Finally he sighs.

“Buckle up, Winchester,” he mutters, and trudges upstairs.

He knocks on the wall near the top, since there’s no door separating the room from the stairs. Hearing no reply, he pokes his head up and looks around cautiously. The room is empty. It’s small, probably not meant to be a bedroom at all, but Cas’ bedframe is put together, and he and Meg have hauled the mattress up here since the first night. The bed is unmade, soft looking white sheets bunched up towards the end. He tries not to picture Meg sleeping there next to Cas. Dean averts his gaze – the room may be small, but it has a damn nice view. Five, tall, narrow panes of glass, overlooking miles of trees and fields, until, in the distance, a few houses turn into a city skyline. Dean takes a moment to just look, before he starts setting up the room.

In the hour or so it takes him to remove all the wallpaper, Cas doesn’t appear. Dean’s just taking off the tape and plastic from anything that needed protected, when he glances over at the makeshift nightstand (moving box), and the picture frame on it. He gingerly picks it up and takes a look. Cas and Meg are there, next to their red Toyota, as well as two faces Dean remembers vaguely from the pictures he snooped on before. There’s the man with floppy golden hair and an indulgent grin, arm wrapped around Cas’ shoulders, and the beautiful redhead, looking a little unsure but smiling at the camera. The trunk of the car is open, and packed full of boxes; the same moving boxes scattered across this room. The photo must have been taken just before they moved.

“My brother, Gabriel, and my sister, Anna.” Cas’ voice startles him, and he puts the picture frame back on the box.

Cas is standing in the entrance, leaning back on the wall. Dean wonders how long he’s been there.

“Sorry,” he says, automatically. “Didn’t mean to snoop.”

Whole body seeming to move with it, Cas shrugs. “I don’t mind.” After a moment of just looking at Dean, he pushes off the wall and walks over, stopping next to Dean so their arms brush just slightly. He picks up the picture, Dean watches him as he smiles a little. “The day we moved. That was a good day.” He carefully sets it down again.

Dean clears his throat. “I just finished up in here,” he says. “I’ll get outta your hair. If you need anything, just come find me.” Dean doesn’t know what Cas might need him for, but Cas just nods solemnly, and Dean grabs his tools and leaves, hurrying down the stairs, escaping the _presence_ of that room, of Cas’ gaze.

***

“Oh my god, Dean.”

Dean stops and frowns down at Charlie. “What?” he asks indignantly.

“You dressed up!” Charlie claps her hands together in glee.

Dean scoffs. “No I didn’t,” he protests.

He did, just a little, with the entirely futile idea in his mind that he might pick someone up tonight, just to take the edge off, get Cas out of his system. He knows now that it’s futile, however, because as soon as he walked in the Roadhouse and looked over at the usual booth, he spotted Charlie’s ‘old friend’.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean says, sitting down at the only available space next to him.

“Hello, Dean.” Cas smiles his small smile at Dean.

“Hold up,” Charlie raises a hand. “You guys know each other?”

“Dean’s doing up our house,” Castiel replies neutrally.

“Yeah. And how the hell do _you two_ know each other?” Dean gestures between Charlie and Cas.

“We went to college together!” Charlie beams. “And then Cas stayed in Illinois while I moved here.”

“Until last week,” Cas adds.

“Exactly,” Charlie goes on, “I swear it’s like fate or something, the first day he and Meg arrive I bump into him on the street. I mean, he’s changed a lot, but I’d recognise him anywhere.”

“And I you, Bradbury,” Cas raises his glass in cheers.

“So now we’re back to being besties.”

“Wow, that’s awesome,” Dean chuckles, “Small world.”

***

He tries his best to put his burgeoning attraction to Cas aside for the night, he really does. But Cas keeps leaning right into Dean’s space to hear him over the music and rowdy chatter of the bar, and sometimes he does this laugh, this brilliant laugh that Dean’s never seen from him before, where he tips his head back and the sound rumbles out of him and straight into Dean’s soul.

At one point, he catches Charlie staring at them, an odd look on her face. He thinks he sees her give him an ever so subtle shake of the head, but he can’t be sure, and he’s too buzzed to decipher it anyway.

“And so,” Cas doubles over in laughter, “That’s when Balthazar – fucking _genius_ that he is – brings out the sausages. Except, they’re _not sausages_ —“ cut off by another round of laughter that Dean is echoing with equal enthusiasm, Cas wheezes, “Gabriel had _replacedthemwithsnakes_.”

The whole table dissolves into laughter then, and when Dean looks over at Cas he has this little pleased, wondrous smile, that Dean wants more than anything to kiss off his face.

Instead – a truly shit trade off, if you ask Dean – he downs the last of his beer. He has hardly drunk anything tonight, yet he feels about ten beers wasted.

“Right,” he says with a sigh. “This has been fun, but it’s time for me to head.”

Charlie and Gilda groan, but let him go.

“I should probably get going, too,” Cas says, downing the rest of his fruity drink that Dean doesn’t know the name of. “Don’t get into too much trouble without us,” he tells Charlie, before frowning. “Wait, what am I talking about? Do. Do get into lots of trouble.”

He’s swooped into a crushing hug by Charlie, and then Gilda, and then he follows Dean out, the both of them waving farewell to the group until they are outside.

Cas’ Toyota is near Dean’s Impala, and Dean’s surprised he didn’t notice it when he parked. They wander over together in silence, Dean’s ears ringing just slightly in the silence of the night, a smile still on his face.

“This was good,” Dean says when they near the cars. “You should come next week, they do this every Thursday.”

“So I’ve heard,” Cas replies, smirking at Dean. “It was fun,” he nods in agreement. “But to be honest, I was a bit distracted all night.”

Dean’s breath catches at the look Cas gives him and suddenly he feels entirely too sober. It’s a question, written on Cas' face. “Yeah,” he breathes. “Me too.”

All of a sudden Cas is close, so close, right in Dean’s space, breathing him in. His eyes are cast down, and he catches Dean’s wrist.

“Cas,” Dean whispers against the smooth cheek that he’s found himself brushing with his lips.

Cas grunts. “You’re insufferable,” and then in one move, lips are firmly on his; persistent, soft, _soft_.

Dean falls into the kiss, grasping Cas’ arms and pulling him closer, wanting heat, wanting Cas. He tastes Cas’ girly drink and wants to taste more, wants to taste Cas. He feels a hand on his face, cupping his jaw, thumb catching on his day-old stubble.

It’s so, _so_ good.

Cas pulls away. “Dean,” he groans, frustrated. “You are,” he fixes Dean with an accusatory glare, “Irresistible.”

Dean pulls a cocky grin. “Not so bad yourself there, Cas.”

He softens a little. “Go home, Dean.”

“Come with me.”

Cas’ jaw tightens. Then, determinedly, “Go home.”

“Why?” Dean demands in a sigh.

It’s a long moment before Castiel answers, seemingly choosing his words carefully. “Because,” he says, “You’re so _kind_.” Dean’s about to complain when Cas cuts him off. “You’re _good_ , and you’re a hopeless romantic – don’t try and deny it, Dean, you’re not that good at pretending – and you’re just,” he trails off and lifts his arms in defeat. “We are not what the other needs.”

“Don’t I get a say in that?”

“No,” Cas replies firmly. “I’ve done this enough times, Dean. You’re incredibly attractive, and I want nothing more than to get into that car with you and find out if you’re compensating for something with all that handy-man, macho bravado—“

Dean snorts and cuts him off. “Then do it.”

“—but I won’t do that to you.” Seemingly against his better judgement, Cas steps up to Dean, and kisses him chastely on the lips, but Dean can feel that it’s a goodbye kiss.

“I don’t get it,” Dean says when Cas steps away again, then, at Cas' pained face, "But I’ll accept it.”

Cas shrugs. “One day I’ll explain,” he says. “When we’re not, y’know,” he gestures between them, “in the midst of it.”

After one last look, he turns and gets in his car, not looking at Dean as he turns on the ignition and drives away.

Confused and more than a little aroused, Dean gets into his own car and lets his head _thunk_ onto the steering wheel.


	14. Chapter 14

**14**

“Dean, I’m telling you,” Cas insists, “If I don’t feed them, no one will.”

Dean had walked into Cas and Meg’s kitchen on Friday morning to find Cas crouched over something on the floor. There had been a streak of ginger and black up and out the window and then Cas was glaring at him.

“You scared her!” he had said.

Dean raised his arms in defence. “Sorry, man. How was I supposed to know there’d be a goddamn cat in here?”

“She’s a stray. There are a few of them that come around every so often. I think they lived in the house before we came. It wouldn’t be fair to kick them out.”

That’s when Dean had noticed the cluster of pet bowls on the counter next to the window.

“Cas, you can’t just let strays come in here, they could have diseases.”

And now there they are, in the middle of the kitchen, having an argument about _cats_.

And it’s okay; it feels okay.

There’s no awkwardness, Dean doesn’t really give a shit about whether Cas lets cats in here, but it feels good to let out some of his frustration over whatever the hell happened last night.

“…and if there are mice, the cats will catch them, and they’re really very friendly.”

Dean can’t help the small smile that creeps up onto his face. “Yeah, alright,” he says. “You’ve won me over; do what you want with the cats.”

Castiel’s beaming smile is worth losing the argument anyway.

“But if I see one wet spot on the floor, I’m closing the damn window and buying a padlock.”

***

A couch has appeared in the living room, along with a low coffee table and, when he passes Meg’s open door, he sees she has a mattress on her bed now. He feels something inside him ease just a little, but he does his best to ignore it.

He’s glad things seem normal with Cas, despite being utterly confused at the other man’s behaviour.

Maybe he’s celibate, Dean wonders.

Nope, Meg.

Shit, Meg.

Somehow it hadn’t quite clicked with Dean that they might be together – they just appear so… un-couple-y. But, Dean’s well aware appearances aren’t everything, and he resolves to talk to one or both of them before the day is over.

***

He doesn’t see Cas again, but he does see Meg, just as he’s smoothing down his final piece of wallpaper for the day. She comes in the front door dressed in hospital scrubs Dean recognises from Lawrence Memorial.

“Trial part two,” Meg explains. “Man, I forgot how tiring this work shit is.”

Dean chuckles. “You’re tellin’ me?”

Meg pulls at her scrubs and makes a distasteful face. “Love the job, hate the uniform,” she grumbles, then her face lights up. “Hey, I’m having a couple of the nurses over here for drinks later. You wanna join?”

“Sure,” Dean shrugs. “I’ll head home and change first, though; wouldn’t want to scare away your new work friends with my sweaty work clothes. What time d’you want me?”

“Seven-ish should be fine. We’ll probably order pizza, too.”

“Sounds good.” Dean loiters awkwardly for a minute before biting the bullet. “Hey, uh, you and Cas. You’re not, like, together, right?” Nice one, Dean, very subtle.

Meg snorts. “No, Clarence and I are certainly not ‘together’.”

Dean sighs a small sigh of relief.

“We fuck, sometimes, just because it’s handy – living with someone who can get your rocks off. But we’ve never been a thing.”

“Cool, thanks, yeah. I was just curious.” Dean wonders if Meg will think he was hitting on her.

“I have to warn you, though,” oh no here it comes, “Clarence isn’t really… the dating type.”

Dean’s eyebrows go up of their own volition. “What makes you think it’s Cas I’m interested in?”

Meg’s placating smile turns knowing. “You’re not nearly as subtle as you think you are, Dean. I could see it from that first night, the eyes you gave that boy,” she whistles.

Flushing, Dean chuckles nervously. “Nah,” he waves a hand. “Cas is hot as fuck, but I’m not interested.”

“Oh?” Meg says, though he can see she doesn’t believe him. “So you’re available then?” She shoots him a wicked grin when he flounders. “Any time, any place, Dean-o, just say the word. I’ll even invite Clarence.”

The thought definitely doesn't keep popping up in Dean's head all the way home, _not at all._

***

Dean spends far too long staring at the vast beer selection of his local grocery store. It isn’t because he’s wondering which beer to get, but rather because his brain is stuck on the Cas problem.

Will he be there tonight? He does live there, surely he’ll be around. What’s his deal? Will he ever find out? God, Dean feels like a high schooler. He shakes his head at himself and picks up a six pack, continuing his grocery shopping with a carefully cleared head.

 _‘Idjit’_ , he hears a voice that sounds an awful lot like his uncle Bobby’s in his head.

***

Music vibrates through the door, a low baseline thumping in the soles of his shoes. Dean knocks on the door and waits until Meg throws it open, grinning and clearly already a little drunk.

“Dean-o!” She hugs him and drags him in by his sleeve.

In the living room, he recognises Tessa, she’s there with her partner Adam, and another nurse he knows but can’t place. They’re on the couch, and the two folding chairs are on the other side of the coffee table.

“Hey, guys,” Dean says, flopping down on one of the chairs. Meg takes the six-pack from Dean and heads into the kitchen.

“You want a pizza?” she calls. “We were just about to order.”

“Thanks,” Dean replies. “I’ll have pepperoni.”

“Long time no see, Dean.” Tessa smiles at him and hands him an ice cold beer.

“I know, I know,” Dean grins the charming Winchester grin and accepts the beer. “Too long. But I’m here now.”

***

Cas doesn’t show, and Dean drinks himself dizzy until he’s teetering on the edge of oblivion. He’s ended up on the couch with Meg. He doesn’t have the faintest idea where the others are.

“Nggngh,” Dean mumbles into his hands.

“What?”

“Dr’nk,” Dean tries again.

“I can see that,” Meg is smirking over at him.

Dean slips down until his head is in Meg’s lap. “Meg,” he says. “What’s Cas’ _deal_?”

He feels a hand nestle in his hair. “Clarence is a complicated man.” The hand slowly strokes Dean’s scalp.

“I thought he was into me.”

Meg is slow to answer. “Yes, I think he probably is. But not in the way you probably want.”

The words twist around in Dean’s head until he’s looked at them every which way. He doesn’t get it. “Speak English,” Dean grumbles.

Meg gives a wry chuckle. “I’m not gonna give you the cheat sheet this early in the game. Besides, it’s not my story to tell.”

“But he sleeps with you.”

“He does.” Meg’s hand pauses in its motion. “Me and Clarence…” she trails off. “We’ve got an unconventional relationship.”

Dean snorts. “Yer confusing, Meg.”

“Yep. Come on, ya big baby, you can sleep it off in my bed.”

“Pfffft, stop flirting.”

Meg shakes her head fondly at him. “Not this time, sweetheart. I’ll take the couch.”

“Mm,” Dean’s head lolls to the side and his eyes slip closed. “No, this— I’ll take couch.”

“You sure?”

“Mmmm, comfy.”

***

Dean wishes he’d taken the bed.

He’s woken at an indiscriminate hour, from a very sweet dream involving his mother’s pie, by the front door opening. He can hear murmuring from two distinctly different voices. Meg has put a blanket over him at some point before leaving, and he draws it up over his head, trying to block out the noise. He can already feel his hangover waiting in the shadows of his temples.

He hears the figures enter the living room, probably on their way to the stairs.

“Why don’t we just do it right here,” a man’s voice echoes quietly in the darkness.

“Because,” Cas replies, “I have a big, soft bed upstairs that I can fuck you into all night long.”

Well, Dean’s certainly wide awake now. He’s frozen where he lies, torn between embarrassment and being turned on by Cas’ gravelly timbre.

“Mmm, c’mere,” the stranger groans, and Dean hears a thud.

He braves a peek out into the room , pulling the blanket down to his nose – he can’t see a whole lot, just one shadowy, not-Cas figure pushing another up against the far wall, face buried in Cas’ neck. Castiel’s head tips back, catching the light from the staircase just so, and his eyes meet Dean’s. His only reaction is a single raised eyebrow.

Then, eyes locked with Dean’s, he lets out a toe-curling groan – deep and salacious and everything Dean’s ever wanted to hear. Despite himself, despite the situation, Dean feels a heat rising deep in his gut. He snakes a hand down to grasp his rapidly thickening dick. Dean thought he was being subtle but apparently not much escapes Cas, distracted as he may be; he gives Dean a smirk that only goes to add fuel to the fire. Dean strokes his dick in his jeans, staring Cas straight in the eyes, and Cas gives as good as he gets, not breaking the connection. It’s only then that Dean realises Cas’ arm has been moving this whole time, as has the stranger’s. Cas is being jerked off. Right in front him.

The realisation makes him come, practically untouched, hot and sticky in his pants. His hand darts up to fist in his mouth, stifling an undoubtedly embarrassing sound.

Cas sees his open face of ecstasy and Dean watches as his free hand comes up to clutch the stranger’s shoulder, clearly tipping over the edge himself. Through it all, they don’t break eye contact, and Dean thinks that, bizarrely, it might have been the hottest encounter of his life.


	15. Chapter 15

**15**

Castiel had tucked the stranger back in his pants after he’d finished – himself straight after – patted him on the back and said a hasty farewell, walking him to the front door. When Cas returned, he headed straight for his stairs, and Dean thought he was going to go up to his room and pretend the whole thing never happened. But, pausing before the first step, his back to Dean, he had said, “You know, Dean, I didn’t take you for much of a voyeur.”

Now Dean lays in the darkness, dazed, about a million thoughts running through his head, unable to focus on any one of them. Eventually, the slow down into some semblance of actual human thought.

And Dean realises: he is _fucked_.

***

He wakes early, just as the sun peeks over the horizon and threatens to burn Dean’s retinas through the East-facing, curtainless window of the living room. His head hurts like hell and his throat feels like someone has poured sand down it, not to mention the crusty-sharp state of his boxers. With a soft groan, decidedly less sexy than those he heard last night, he runs a distraught hand through his hair.

A kiss is one thing; _whatever the fuck last night was,_ is quite another. The main problem – or, at least, volume II of this whole shit-show – is that Dean actually likes Cas. Like, quite a lot. Somehow, without really noticing, or perhaps by forcible denial, Dean has barrelled head first straight into dangerous, mushy, ‘ _you-wanna-take-a-trip-to-Cali-and-meet-my-brother-because-I-think-you’re-awesome-and-also-we-should-bang?_ ’ territory.

“Fuckin’ A, Winchester,” he grumbles, head in his hands.

His saving grace is, of course, that it’s a Saturday. Dean hasn’t taken a Saturday off in full for as long as he can remember, but he sure as hell is gonna take advantage of that today.

He makes the shameful walk out to his car, closing the door with utmost gentleness, and then high-tails it out of there into the early morning light.

***

After a hasty clothing change and wipe-down and then crashing in his own bed for a few hours, Dean spends half the day moping around his apartment doing nothing much of anything. Sam would know what to do, but there’s no way Dean is telling Sam any of this. He can picture his brother’s kind but taking-no-shit face.

“ _Dean_ ”, he would say. “ _Either have a goddamn adult conversation with the guy, or suck it up and be his friend_.”

Yeah, well. Dean’s not quite there yet for either of Imaginary-Sam’s solutions just yet, so instead he grabs his keys and heads over to Charlie and Gilda’s place. They have a cosy, suburban, two-bed house on the outskirts of town, all flower-beds and Pinterest interior design.

When Charlie opens the door, she looks a little surprised to see him there, but that’s understandable since the last time Dean visited was probably New-Years.

“Dean? What are you doing here? Is everything okay?” She lets him in.

“Yeah, yeah, the world isn’t ending just ‘cause I’ve decided to visit.”

Charlie scoffs. “It was a valid concern.”

Dean doesn’t really have a retort to that, so instead he sits down at the kitchen table, Charlie following suite after him.

“But really, what’s up? Why has the great Dean Winchester graced us with his presence?”

“Nothin’ much,” Dean shrugs. “Just wanted to get out of the apartment; thought I’d give my girls a visit.”

Charlie scowls at him. “Call us that again and your balls’ll be in your eye-sockets and vice-versa.”

Dean chuckles. “See?” he says. “I missed this.”

“My wit is unmatched.”

“Yeah.” There are a few moments of silence while Dean builds up to his next words. “So, you knew Cas back in the day, huh?”

Charlie’s expression softens, and her lips turn up into an amused smirk. “Ah. And we discover the real reason for your impromptu visit.”

Dean glares at her. “I’m just making conversation.”

“Sure you are. But to answer your question, yes, I knew Castiel back in the day. We were practically inseparable through most of college.” When Dean goes to speak, Charlie holds up a hand. “But,” she exclaims. “I will not be spilling any sordid secrets about my ex-bestie.”

Dean grins. “So there _are_ sordid secrets to spill?”

Charlie rolls her eyes. “None of your beeswax,” then, “I thought you two were friends now, anyway, why not ask him?”

“Cas is very…” Dean searches for the right words, “…evasive, about certain things, as is Meg.”

“Probably means he doesn’t want to talk about whatever it is,” Charlie reasons.

Dean huffs in frustration. “Yeah, but I gotta know,” he whines.

“Dean. You gotta remember something here.” He raises a curious eyebrow. “I know you.” She gives him a _look_. “And I have a feeling that whatever this is, you haven’t actually _talked_ to Cas about it, you only think you have, when what you’ve done in reality is made a few hints and drawn some conclusions of your own.”

Dean sits stunned for a moment as slowly he realises that Charlie has pretty much hit the nail on the head.

“That’s what I thought—“ she’s cut off as the front door opens and a familiar voice calls out.

“Sorry I’m late,” Cas’ voice rings clear through the house. “It’s not that I don’t love you guys’ cramped bathroom, I just had a few things…” he trails off as he rounds the kitchen door and sees Dean sitting there.

Charlie has somewhat of a deer-in-the-headlights look and Dean can’t parse why.

“Cas!” she squeaks. “How lovely of you to join us, would you like a drink?”

Dean looks between the two of them, well aware he’s missing something, but he can’t for the life of him figure out what.

“Um.” Cas just stands there dumbly before nodding. “Thanks Charlie, I’ll just have a glass of water.” He’s staring at Dean with intense focus. “Dean,” he acknowledges.

“Heya, Cas,” Dean breathes, still in shock. He thought he would have a couple days at least to figure out his thoughts before seeing Cas again – this is unfair, this is a damn ambush.

“It’s good to see you… up and about,” Cas says, and then flushes and looks away, and Dean realises maybe Cas is feeling just as awkward and unsure of this whole thing in the harsh light of day as Dean is.

He clears his throat. “You too,” he says. “Well, I was just leaving.”

Cas nods slightly. Dean stands and gives a little wave to Charlie who’s standing by the sink and looking at the two of them curiously, then brushes past Cas, practically holding his breath.

Once he’s safely in the seat of his Impala, breathing in her familiar scent, he allows himself to acknowledge that it’s going to be one hell of a fucking task being around Cas after what happened last night; at least, without blushing like a fire-hydrant and stuttering his way through every sentence.

For the second time in as many days, Dean thinks to himself how utterly fucked he is.


	16. Chapter 16

**16**

“Yeah, man,” Dean coughs into the phone and fakes a sneeze. “Sorry, Garth.”

Dean is a big fat coward and he knows it. But he simply cannot face going into work today, can’t face seeing Cas. The thoughts had been circling his head late into last night, eating him up, and – for the first time since high school – Dean had bunked off.

“No worries, Dean – get well soon! Let me know when you’ll be back and fighting fit.”

Just one day, he told himself, and the next he would go into work, face Castiel, and it would all be fine. He told himself that for three days.

The third day when he phoned Garth, the poor guy seemed genuinely worried. “Dean, do you need anything? I could bring you some soup or…”

“Nah, I’m good,” Dean had replied. “I got Charlie caring for me,” he lied.

Now, Thursday, five a.m., Dean sits on the edge of his bed, phone in hand. He can’t believe he’s already taken three days off work. He can’t possibly take another day off, he just can’t.

And yet, there he sits on the verge of calling his boss.

***

In the end, he didn’t have to worry. When he arrives, he meets Meg in the living room.

“You’re looking well, Dean-o,” she smirks knowingly, but then again, that is her general way of being. “That must have been one hell of a hangover, lay you up for five days.”

Dean chuckles. “Must’ve caught a bug or something.”

“Mm,” Meg gives him a look. “You and Clarence both, he’s been holed up in his room all week.”

“Is he- I mean, is he okay?”

“He’s fine. He’s a big baby.”

“Alright, alright, good. Well, I’ve got the walnut banister you guys picked out, so I’ll be installing that most of the day. Shout if you need anything.” Dean turns to leave before remembering, “Oh, and next week – Thursday-Friday – I won’t be here, my brother’s visiting.”

“You have a brother?” Meg asks with genuine curiosity, before smiling devilishly. “Is he anywhere near as hot as you?”

Dean laughs, “He’s engaged,” he says. “Or, he will be soon.”

“That doesn’t answer my question, Dean-o. You can admire a fine painting without stealing it from the gallery.”

“Dude,” Dean pulls a face. “That’s my brother you’re talking about.”

Meg just shrugs. “So, will I meet him?”

“I’ll bring him and Jess to the Roadhouse Thursday night, yeah.”

“I’ll do my best to be there.”

***

He gets the banister installed on Thursday, and on Friday begins wallpapering. He manages to avoid Cas Friday through Monday, but on Tuesday he finds himself once again at the bottom of that spiral staircase leading up to Cas’ room.

Cas’ room is a little less bare than the last time Dean entered – a real nightstand, a dresser on the other side of the bed. In said bed lays Cas’ form, spread-eagled, sheets bunched up over his lower half, a holey t-shirt across his chest. Cas is staring at the ceiling, a neutral expression on his face.

“Cas?” Dean takes a step forward, noticing only then the other new additions to Cas’ room. A whisky bottle lays on its side by his bed, a few beer bottles on the nightstand.

“Hmm,” Cas hums.

“Where’ve you been all week, man?”

“On a bender,” comes Cas’ gravelly response.

“I can see that.” Dean comes over to the bed, and Cas’ arm flops over his eyes. “You, ah, you want some water, buddy?” He grabs the bottle from his toolbox and waves it near Cas’ face.

A hand snakes out and grabs it from him, unscrewing the cap and chugging down half of the water. He hands it back. “Thank you.”

“No problem-o. Listen, I just came up here to wallpaper the place, that okay?”

“Mm,” Cas just grunts.

***

Dean has done half the room when he notices that Cas is watching him as he works. He keeps going, applying a layer of paste, smoothing the wallpaper down onto it with a roller. He is determined not to be the first one to break the silence.

“I meant what I said, Dean,” Cas finally speaks. “When we first met.”

Dean carries on working, wracking his brain. He comes up short. “You’re gonna have to be more specific there, buddy.”

Cas snorts obnoxiously. “ _Buddy_ ,” he parrots. Dean realises he’s definitely still a little drunk, as well as hungover. “What a word, huh? Just to remind someone they’re your friend.”

“The English language knows no bounds.”

“Mmm.” Cas is silent for a bit before he talks again. “When I was twenty, my only friend was Charlie,” he says, apropos of nothing. “My brother, Gabriel, had gone to work in Belize, my sister, Anna, was already engaged to her partner, Michael, and living in Mississippi.” Dean puts down his tools and turns to look at Cas, but he’s staring resolutely at the ceiling. “My family… well, it wasn’t exactly easy, growing up. They’re extremely religious. I’m talking totally straight-edge; church every day; no sins of the flesh whatsoever; the whole nine yards. And – for a while, at least – I thought that was okay, that it suited me. I thought it was the _righteous path_.” He chuckles self-deprecatingly. “Because – I never… wanted those things, never felt those desires. I lived a very sheltered childhood, Dean.” He sighs. “And then college came around, and things started tumbling into place, things that hadn’t quite added up all those years but that I’d always ignored.

“And with Charlie’s help, I slowly came to realise that my family were not the people I thought they were, but instead a bunch of self-righteous dicks that had manipulated me my whole life and bent the system to their personal, financial, even political gain – in some cases.” He takes a breath. “And so college was, you could say, a transformative experience. I drank, and I partied, and I fucked college girls and boys alike until the sun came up and then I carried on, all while appearing the good Christian student to my family.

“But, it still didn’t all feel right. Charlie told me it would just take time, but I waited, and I waited some more, and I still didn’t _feel_ things like I thought I should. So, when it all finally blew up in my face – when I inevitably got sloppy and my family found out about the way I’d been living, and they _knew_ , somehow they knew about my feelings, my doubts. And they latched onto them.”

There’s a lull in Cas’ monologue. While he was listening, Dean had taken a seat on the end of Cas’ bed without really noticing he had done so. “Why are you telling me all this?” Dean asked, not unkindly.

“Because,” Cas sits up and looks Dean in the eyes. “I want to know you. And I want you to know me. And because… I need you to understand why I-“ he heaves a sigh. “Can’t.”

Dean nods and waits for Cas to continue.

After another moment, he does, still watching Dean. “They locked me up in an institution,” Cas says it with a detached air that Dean recognises is from time and retrospection. “I had ‘ _lost my faith’_ ,” he uses air quotes. It’s inappropriate for Dean to find it cute under the circumstances but that doesn’t stop him. “And because basically my whole world had been turned upside down in those last few years, and because I was still… lost, they got to me, got in my head. I was _fucked up_ , Dean.” He smiles lopsidedly. “They drugged me and recited bible verses in my ear for five, agonising weeks. And then, the hospital, if you can call it that, hired a new nurse. Her name was Meg Masters and she _liked_ me. God knows why,” he chuckles, “But she did. Every night, after hours, she would visit me, sit in a chair beside my bed, just talk to me, bring me things to read – but that was more than anyone else would do.

“She explained things that Charlie at the time never could – that my family certainly never would – about people, humanity. She would chat to me about her life, about her boyfriends, and girlfriends, and her friends. One of them was called Bela, and she was what Meg called ‘aromantic’. She slept with people – was attracted to people, sexually, and she had platonic friends, family, but the rest of it just didn’t appeal to her. And I,” Cas finally breaks eye contact with Dean. “I related to that. The realisation the people didn’t always have to fit into these confining boxes or labels; that variation was okay, was normal, I- Well. Meg and I became friends, and then when Gabriel and Anna discovered that I had been locked up, all Hell rained down on that place. I escaped, and Meg came with me. We’ve been picking up the pieces ever since.”

Dean takes a moment to absorb all this. He clears his throat, “Thank you for telling me,” he says.

Cas shrugs with his whole body. “So,” he levels Dean with a look, “Do you get it now, Casanova?”


	17. Chapter 17

**17**

“I think so,” Dean says. “So, uh, you like getting your rocks off, but you don’t do feelings.”

Cas snorts. “Mm, pretty much.”

“And you don’t think I can do no strings attached, so you pushed me away?”

“Well, can you?”

Dean shrugs. “I’ve done it before.”

“You’ve done one night stands before, that’s not the same.”

Cas is being perceptive as ever. Dean doesn’t argue. “I could try,” he says instead.

Cas heaves a sigh and tips his head back. “Dean,” he groans. “I’ve been down that road, and it’s always very short, and it always leads to misery. For the both of us.”

***

Dean still has the rest of Cas’ room to wallpaper, but he decides to leave it until Friday since the work day is nearly over anyway. He gets in his pickup but doesn’t drive away for a good ten minutes; lost in thought.

He admits, he did feel a hot sharp pang of disappointment when he learned Cas couldn’t be into him romantically. And, he’s a little hurt that Cas doesn’t believe he and Dean could fuck without Dean _falling in love with him_ or something, Jesus, the guy is ridiculous.

Dean doesn’t exactly fall in love easily – in fact, he’s never even been in love. Love isn’t even in Dean’s vocabulary. Nope, Dean’s single, free, and in control of his emotions. He’ll just have to prove to Cas that he can handle a friends with benefits situation.

It doesn’t cross Dean’s mind for one second that he could easily just back off and be Cas’ friend, with no complications, no sexual tension, no tricky feelings. Instead, he ploughs ahead, plotting even as he drives home.

***

He wakes on Friday with an unexpectedly spritely, hopeful feeling in his chest. He makes coffee, eats soggy, off-brand, Cinnamon Toast Crunch, and heads off to work whistling ‘ _Kashmir_ ’.

Castiel’s room should be first on his to-do list, but he gets the impression Cas isn’t an eight a.m. start kind of guy, so instead he grabs the secateurs from the back of his truck and takes a walk around the house, scoping out the tangled mess of weeds and overgrown bushes. He sets about taming the mane surrounding the house; the sun beats down hot on his back as he works, and the later it gets the sweatier he becomes.

Dean has a plan.

It’s a shit, ramshackle plan that he came up with at three a.m. last night, but it’s a plan all the same. And, unbeknownst to her, Meg really helps it along.

“You stink,” she says, wrinkling her nose, when he wanders inside around lunchtime.

“I’m aware.”

“You’re welcome to use one of our showers,” Meg offers.

Dean’s about to turn down the offer when something occurs to him, and he thinks, ‘ _what the hell’_. “Sure, thanks,” he says.

He heads upstairs and into one of the bathrooms, closes the door behind him and peels off his clothes. The water temperature is good, for such an old house, and Dean remembers the new boiler they got installed.

Once he’s squeaky clean and shining, Dean puts on his work pants and his boots, but leaves his sweat-soaked shirt hanging out his back pocket.

***

Downstairs, he sees Meg again, who gives a low, appreciative whistle. “I like the new look, Dean-o.”

“Heh,” Dean rubs the back of his neck. “Hope you don’t mind – working in this heat’s pretty intense.”

Meg raises her hands in a shrug. “Doesn’t bother me, finally getting an eyeful of that body, even if it’s just the top half.” She winks.

Dean tries his very best not to blush and has no idea if he succeeds – but if the look Meg is giving him is any indication, he does not succeed.

He eats his sandwich, wipes the crumbs from his pants, and heads upstairs, carrying his wallpapering equipment. At the top of the stairs, he knocks on the wall, and Cas calls, “Come on up,” without looking away from his book.

Fine, Dean will just have to put on more of a show.

“Heya Cas,” he says, and bends over to put his tools down, ass on bold display to Castiel.

“…Dean,” Cas acknowledges. “Interesting choice of wardrobe today.”

Dean shrugs easily. “It’s hot out, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

“Mm.” Cas goes back to his book, and Dean sets to work on the other half of the room, but he does notice Cas sneak the occasional glance towards Dean. That’ll have to do, for now.

Once he has almost finished the room, Dean puts down his roller and sighs, drawing Cas’ attention to him, then stretches his arms over his head.

“Man,” he says. “I am beat.” He wanders over to the bed and sits down heavily near Cas’ hip.

“What are you doing,” Cas says, cutting straight through Dean’s bullshit.

“What?” Dean protests. “I’m tired, been working all day.”

“If I didn’t know better I’d have thought you were trying to seduce me.”

Dean clicks his teeth. “But you do know better, huh?”

“I thought I told you, yesterday.”

“You told me a lot of things yesterday,” Dean says. “I didn’t hear anything that would stop me tryin’ to seduce you.”

“So you really think you can do this,” Cas asks, somehow closer to Dean than when they’d started.

“Mm. Do what, exactly,” Dean murmurs, his face inching closer to Cas’.

He sees Cas’ Adam’s apple bob. He tilts his head. “Have me fuck you,” he says, his voice deep and sultry. “Over, and over, whenever we want. With no expectation of anything else.” Cas’ lips brush Dean’s cheek as he talks, and Dean notices his hand hovering over Dean’s leg.

Dean feels himself hardening in his boxers, the sound of Cas whispering dirty into his ear alone is enough. What would it be like to have sex with him? Dean grins wickedly. “Yes. I can do that.”

Cas veers in closer to Dean, his breath hot on Dean’s neck, nuzzles in a little without ever actually touching him. It’s torture.

Then,

“I don’t believe you,” he says into Dean’s ear, and suddenly he’s gone from Dean’s space, sitting back on the bed.

Dean takes it back, _this_ is the torture. He makes an indignant noise without meaning to that definitely isn’t a squawk. “Why not?”

Cas looks at him, really looks. “I should have told you sooner,” he admits. “About everything – about me. I let this happen. I think,” he hesitates. “I think you have a crush on me.”

Dean huffs a surprised laugh at Cas’ serious tone. “Yeah, you’d be right there.”

“I don’t have a crush on you.”

Dean tries to ignore the hurt he feels, despite the fact he understands. Instead, he argues, “Let me prove it to you.” He rests a hand on Cas’ thigh.

Cas looks down at the hand, then back up at Dean with curiosity. “How?”

Dean smirks, knowing he’s got an in. “Invite Meg.”

“What?” Cas’ eyebrows raise in obvious surprise.

“Invite Meg. Let’s have a threesome.”

“And how exactly does that prove you don’t want a relationship?”

It had made sense at the time, dammit. He perseveres, nevertheless. “I figure, if I can share, and be happy sharing, be happy that someone else is involved, then it proves that his could work.”

Cas squints at him for a long moment, thinking through the proposition. Then smiles, “You are just full of surprises, Dean Winchester. Just don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Dean grins. “You’re kinda arrogant, you know that, Cas?” He chuckles. “Thinking that every sumbitch is going to fall in love with you.”

“Prove me wrong, then.”


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man, this is a long chapter. And... you're welcome!

**18**

“Tomorrow, eight o’ clock, don’t forget.” Cas has his serious face on.

Dean chuckles, “I’m not going to forget, Cas.”

“You better not.”

Dean leaves work buzzing, literally trembling in his boots with adrenaline and excitement. He can’t quite believe his plan worked, but so far; it seems like all systems are go for tomorrow night. Cas assured him Meg would be up for it, explaining they had done this a few times. Well, not quite _this_ , but threesomes.

Part of him wants to call Charlie because he really does feel like a high-schooler who just got asked to the prom by the hottest guy in the year – and his hot friend – but of course he doesn’t because he isn’t seventeen anymore, and besides, he feels like Charlie might give him a lecture, though he’s not sure what for. So instead he vibrates around his apartment all of Saturday until grabbing something to eat at dinnertime and hopping in the shower, making sure to shave and exfoliate the whole shebang.

If he was doing this, he was looking good doing it.

***

Dean honestly didn’t know what to expect. He’d never had a threesome before, despite what he told Sammy. Never mind a threesome between two good friends and clients – and _boy_ had that policy gone out the window in a heartbeat once he’d had a shot at Cas, Dean realises with a grimace.

He is into Meg, too, it’s just not quite the same as Cas; he doesn’t look at it all too carefully. Hot chick plus hot dude plus Dean equal a good time in his book, he tells himself.

He wore aftershave, for god’s sake.

Dean knocks on the door, rocking back on his heels as he waits. He hears the steady pulse of music coming from inside, which intensifies as Meg opens the door.

“Well, don’t you look handsome,” she grins at him and invites him in.

Castiel is sat back on the couch, relaxed and open, giving Dean an appraising smile. Dean has never seen someone so sexy while still fully clothed.

“Cas, not for nothin’, but the last person that looked at me like that, I got laid.”

Cas chuckles darkly. “Put your money where your mouth is, Winchester.”

“Well,” Meg says, emerging from the kitchen. “Looks like we won’t be needing a whole lot of these,” she hands Dean a beer. “That’s a relief.”

***

They fall into easy conversation for an hour or so, chatting about anything and nothing. Dean doesn’t exactly know how to instigate something like this.

At a lull in the conversation, Meg takes that worry and throws far away. She winks at Dean. “So, let’s get this show on the road, shall we?” 

She stands from her chair beside Dean and saunters over to Cas, who closes his legs so she can kneel, straddling him on the couch. Cas is looking up at her with heated eyes. She sinks down onto his lap and turns to shoot a lopsided grin at Dean. “Watch and learn, handsome. Clarence here tells me you like to watch.”

Dean feels a slight relief at not being thrown into the deep end, so to speak, but he’s also undeniably jealous of Meg right about now. She leans down to capture Cas’ lips in her own, at the same time bringing her hands between them and starting to unbutton Cas’ casual blue cotton shirt. Cas’ confident hands come up to slide Meg’s leather jacket off, before dropping down to her ass. He cups it and squeezes, and Meg lets out a sinful moan, before starting to gyrate atop Cas.

Dean’s already pretty much fully hard from their show, and he tries not to feel embarrassed about how quickly they did it for him. With a new sort of excitement, he realises he’s allowed to touch himself, so he reaches down and grabs himself over his pants, rubbing slowly, eyes glued to the pair before him.

Cas’ shirt has been removed as has Meg’s, and Cas is making quick work of her bra as well. Before long, Meg’s breasts are free, bouncing slightly as she moves. They’re perky, and the perfect size to hold. Cas seems to be thinking along the same lines as Dean, as his hands cradle them, tugging one forward for him to lick at the nipple. At this, Dean notices that they are pierced – a silver barbell through each.

The realisation makes him let out a small moan, and Cas’ eyes are dragged to Dean. Immediately when he sees Dean pleasuring himself, his gaze darkens.

Dean smirks cheekily. “You a voyeur too, huh Cas?”

“You haven’t given me much of a show, yet, Dean.” Cas’ voice is low and thick from arousal, and the smile slips off Dean’s face, replaced by what he’s sure is pure heat.

“Oh, I’ll give you a show,” Dean rises to the challenge. He bites his lip and checks that Cas’ eyes are on him – they are, and Cas watches him with unwavering attention. Dean brings one hand up to his nipple, dragging his shirt up with it. He pinches a little and groans, tipping his head back, all the while one hand still works over his dick, tenting his pants.

Meg is teasing Cas’ neck with her mouth, and Cas seems to like that too, Dean notes.

He ramps it up, slipping a hand down into his boxers and gripping himself. Cas’ lips part slightly. When Dean slowly, teasingly, pulls it out, it seems to flip a switch in Cas. He murmurs something in Meg’s ear and she gets off his lap, sitting next to him on the couch and watching Dean while one hand moves down her jeans.

“Here we go,” she mutters, smiling in satisfaction.

Cas crooks a finger, motioning for Dean to come over, and Dean couldn’t for the life of him deny Cas anything right now. So he stands, lazily tucking himself back in, and walks between Cas’ outspread legs. Those strong hands Dean had been so fascinated by are suddenly on his hips, pulling him forward, until Cas’ chin rests on Dean’s clothed abdomen, striking blue eyes looking up at him.

“Cas,” Dean breathes, reaching to plant a hand in Cas’ hair, gripping loosely.

Cas’ eyes flutter shut, and he nuzzles into Dean’s body, slowly getting lower until he’s low enough and he begins mouthing at Dean’s clothed cock. Dean’s fingers tighten in Cas’ hair and his hips jerk forward of their own accord.

Suddenly, his pants and boxers are being jerked down, and Dean’s cock springs out, right into Castiel’s space. Cas groans at the sight, and presses his lips to it, closed and teasing, pushing it back into Dean’s stomach and holding it there. It takes all Dean has not to grab Cas’ hair and fuck his mouth.

“Not to interrupt, boys,” Meg drawls from beside them. “But I think it might be time to take this to a bed.”

Cas looks up at him, as if waiting for permission. Dean nods, and Cas stands, flush against Dean. He gives Dean’s cock one last stroke and then he’s halfway across the room, heading for the stairs.

Meg chuckles beside him. “We’re only just getting started,” she says, to Dean’s undoubtedly overwhelmed expression.

Naked from the waist up, she trots along after Castiel, and Dean has to hurry to catch them up.

***

It makes sense that they would use Meg’s room, since it’s only one flight of stairs to climb rather than three, yet Dean can’t help but feel a little more out of place here than he does in Cas’ room.

The thought is quickly forgotten, however, when he sees Meg lying on the bed, Cas lavishing her breasts with his mouth, his tongue – that tongue, Dean thinks, could be the death of him. He breaks away for a moment to say, “Come here, Dean.”

Dean obliges, his own name coming from Cas’ mouth has reignited the molten heat deep in his belly. Cas momentarily breaks away from Meg to push Dean down beside her, bouncing onto his back. Cas sits back on his knees and looks down at Dean through hooded eyes. “Take off your shirt.” He then works on taking Meg’s black jeans off down her parted thighs.

Dean wriggles out of his shirt, and takes off his own pants and socks for good measure, but leaves his boxers on, not wanting to be too exposed.

Once Meg is in only her panties, Cas sits back to admire the newly bared skin before him, then stands to remove his pants. As much as Dean wants to watch him strip, instead he turns to Meg and, always one to give as good as he gets, runs a hand down the smooth skin of her front until he reaches her lace panties. Meg gives a pleased little groan and he starts rubbing circles over her clit. Her eyes slip shut, and Dean gets into the rhythm, bringing his other hand up to rub her nipple into a stiff peak, excited by the feel of the metal there.

He glances at Cas, who’s looking down at them with an expression that Dean isn’t sure how to read, but before he can do anything about it, Cas is bending over them, gently prying Dean off Meg. He hovers above Dean, and then latches onto Dean’s neck, eliciting a toe-curling moan from Dean. Cas works his way down Dean’s body until he’s back at Dean’s aching cock, and he pulls the boxers clean off Dean’s legs. To his surprise, Cas forgoes Dean’s cock entirely, instead breathing hot puffs of air over Dean’s hole. The feeling and the added implication sends a spike of arousal through Dean, and his cock globs precum onto his stomach. Cas chuckles from his position and Dean can feel it.

Starting with tiny kitten licks – and even those make Dean want to live in this bed forever and let Cas have his way with him – Cas works up to full on eating Dean out. Meg, seemingly ever with the programme, hands Cas a bottle of lube from a bedside drawer, along with a roll of condoms, and then settles with her head by Cas’ groin. He turns a little so she can gain access, pulling Cas’ heavy cock out of his boxer-briefs and sinking it straight into her mouth.

Dean doesn’t think he can get any more turned on.

He’s wrong. Cas slips one lubed-up finger inside of him and he almost screams with the pleasure, with the too-much-yet-not-enough of it. It has been too long since Dean’s been fucked, let alone by a sex-god hot fucker like Cas. And that is what they’re working up to – if it isn’t, Dean might commit homicide.

“Is this okay?” Cas grinds out.

“Yeah,” Dean pants. “More than.”

Cas inserts a second finger, shutting them both up.

***

When Dean feels about as prepped as he’s gonna get, he sees Cas tap Meg once on the shoulder. She leaves her place of sucking Cas off, and crawls up the bed towards Dean.

“How do you wanna do this,” she pants, “New boy gets to pick.” At Dean’s silence, she continues, mouth right at Dean’s ear: “How about you fuck me, while Castiel fucks you? How does that sound?”

Dean groans involuntarily and Meg grins. “I think he likes the sound of that, Clarence.”

Dean’s vaguely aware that Meg called him Castiel initially, and he thinks that the first time she’s done that, but he’s too blissed out to give it any thought.

“Alright, big boy,” Meg slaps his ass gently. “Let’s do this.” She lays down next to him, by now no part of Cas is inside Dean and he keenly feels the loss.

Dean hauls himself up from his laying position, and grabs a condom from the roll, hastily slipping it on. Then, he turns over and lines himself up with Meg, reaching down to guide himself in. She’s wet, and it’s been a long time since Dean’s fucked a chick; he kinda likes it – the easiness of it, the comforting familiar wet heat.

He slides in and settles there, Meg with a pleased look on her face, waiting for Cas to join them.

Dean feels a hand skim his side and he draws in an excited breath. The next thing he knows, Cas’ back is pressed tightly along his, a lubed-up cockhead pressing at his hole. Dean tries to control his breathing but he’s having trouble – this is all almost too much for him, and yet not enough.

Achingly slowly, Cas pushes in until he’s bottomed out, then pauses for a moment, letting Dean acclimatise. Then, he’s moving, and it’s the hottest thing Dean’s ever felt. Just knowing that’s _Cas_ pressed up against his back, _Cas’_ mouth at his ear, breathing laboured, almost pushes him over the edge, never mind the fact he’s getting his prostate nailed while his cock’s deep in the woman writhing below him.

He gets the feeling none of them will last long.

***

Dean doesn’t even have to do any work – Cas’ movements in turn are making him fuck Meg, and the thought of it is extremely fucking hot. Before long, Dean feels Meg start to buck up into him, her breathing stuttering. With difficulty, he wriggles his hand between them and rubs her roughly until she’s moaning and squirming beneath him. The feeling of her clench around him, combined with the soft, pleased sounds Cas is making in his ear, Dean follows not long after, white-knuckling the sheets as his vision blacks out, he spills into the condom.

Cas is the last to come, still pounding into Dean when he’s stopped seeing stars. Dean can feel he’s close, though, and decides to help Cas along some.

He tips his head so that his lips are right by Cas’, and whispers: “Come for me, Cas.”

And with that, he feels Cas’ movements still, his cock buried deep in Dean, and he moans, loud in Dean’s ear, and the moan is Dean’s name.

“Fuck,” he pants, after, and they all detangle from one another.

Cas and Dean tie off their condoms and throw them in the trash can in the corner, though Dean barely has the energy. All his strength has been sapped from that intense experience, and as soon as the condom’s off, he’s out like a light, Cas draped over him and Meg partially trapped under him.


	19. Chapter 19

Dean wakes feeling sated and happy and just a little sore in the behind. He smiles, remembering last night, and slowly submits to consciousness.

The first thing he sees when he opens his eyes is Meg’s alarm clock – it reads seven a.m., and Dean scrunches up his face. He turns over, expecting to find two sleeping bodies, but instead only finds Meg, lying there with one eye cracked open.

Dean swallows and tries not to sound too needy when he asks, “No Cas?”

Meg smiles a little sadly at him then. “Sorry, sweetheart. That’s how he does it.”

Dean shrugs, though disappointment floods him. “That’s alright by me.”

Meg’s expression hasn’t shifted. “Dean,” she says softly, voice uncharacteristically kind. “If you can’t handle this, get out now. Before it’s too late.”

Gritting his teeth, Dean replies, “I can handle it.”

Meg just turns over and goes back to sleep.

***

Dean wakes for the second time at eleven thirty to an empty bed, and the scent of cooking wafting through the open bedroom door. He yawns and stretches before sitting up. He grabs his clothes up off the floor, noticing Meg’s and Cas’ pants there too. He runs a hand across the black fabric of Cas’ for a moment before shaking himself out of it and getting out of bed, pulling on his clothes.

Downstairs, Dean finds them both in the kitchen, Meg at the stove cooking eggs, Cas’ head bobbing along to music drifting in from the living room as he sits on the countertop. Dean feels oddly excluded, as if he’s watching a movie featuring a couple deeply in love, intruding.

Then, Cas seems to notice him and turns, a languid smile on his face. “Rise and shine, sleepyhead,” he says. Dean forgets his moment of sadness.

“Heh,” Dean chuckles. “Mornin’ guys.”

“Eggs?” Meg asks from her place on the stove.

“I’m good, thanks,” he rubs the back of his neck. “I think I’ll just head home.”

“Smash and dash,” Meg chuckles. “Very classy.”

Cas is just watching him, expression unreadable.

“Yeah, yeah. You guys just can’t get enough of me. I’ll be back on Monday.”

“Eight a.m. sharp! No slacking just ‘cause you’re screwing your employers.”

Dean snorts. “Like I’m ever late, Meg.”

***

He’s running late.

He was up late last night on the phone to Sam – two hours ahead of California, Sam somehow never remembers – being reminded of flight times and ‘clean the apartment, Dean’, and then he still had to catch up on paperwork from missing work last week.

He only rolls up a quarter of an hour past when he’s supposed to, but it’s enough to put him in a bad mood. When Meg whirlwinds past him at half-past, dressed in scrubs under her leather jacket, car keys jingling, he only manages a brusque “Hey.”

She grins at him. “Gotta go bring in the dough,” she explains. “Someone around here’s gotta be the breadwinner.” And then she’s gone, and Dean’s a little thankful for the peace. It allows him to work in silence, only disturbed by the thoughts racing through his head.

Cas doesn’t show the whole day, and Dean wonders how the guy even survives holed up in that room of his, like some fucked up version of Cinderella. Meg isn’t back by ten to six, so Dean reluctantly climbs to the top of the house once again; he has business he actually needs to talk about with one of them, for the sake of his job.

As always, he knocks on the wall of the stairwell and waits for Cas’, “Come on up,” before entering the room.

Cas looks ethereal, sitting cross-legged on the ledge of his bay window, book in hand, fading light from outside casting one half of his face in shadow while the other is illuminated in resplendent brightness.

“Hello, Dean.” He puts the book down.

Dean clears his throat and looks away for a second, afraid to be caught staring, feeling somewhat like a school kid ogling the hot, young, English teacher. “Hey man,” he says once he’s able to meet Cas’ eyes again. “I just had a few things I needed to check with you.” Cas nods for him to go on. “I told Meg last week, I’m not sure if she passed it on to you, but I’m not gonna be here Thursday or Friday, I got my brother coming from out of state.”

“She let me know.”

“Okay, well uh, that’s the other thing. So, unless you guys have anything else specific in mind you want me to do here, I’ll have finished up all my basic jobs by Wednesday.”

“You have done excellent work on the house,” Cas praises. “Thank you.”

“Yeah, no problem.”

“We appreciate what you’ve done for us, but unfortunately we can’t afford to keep you on at this time.”

Dean doesn’t know why Cas is being so formal, so cold. He fights off a shiver. “That’s fine,” he says. “Totally understand. Just wanted to let you know, I’ll be out of your hair Thursday.” Dean tries for a smile but doesn’t quite manage.

He sees Cas’ expression soften at that. He uncrosses his legs and turns bodily towards Dean. “I-“ he looks away. “I’ll miss having you around.”

Dean snorts without meaning to. “You never even leave this room.”

Cas scowls. “But I always know you’ll be downstairs, working away on something, if I do come down.”

Dean doesn’t quite know what to say to that, so he settles on, “I’ll be around.”

“Stay,” he says suddenly. “Have dinner with me?”

“Uh,” Dean deliberates, caught on the threshold. “Nah,” he takes a step back. “I’d better not. I got lasagne waiting for me that’s about to go bad.” It’s not a lie but he still feels bad. “Thanks, though.”

Cas nods. “Another time.”

***

Dean’s running away and he knows it. Literally, too, he takes the stairs three at a time on the way out of the house. Meg had warned him. _Cas_ had warned him – but he hadn’t listened, he was too wrapped up in his own bravado and desire. Selfish, he thinks.

He needs to cut it out before it’s too late, like a festering limb. He recoils at the expression, at comparing Castiel to something so repulsive. Cas is everything but repulsive. Cas is… funny. Cas is caring and compassionate, a weird little dude who always speaks his mind, unbelievably attractive; everything Dean has ever wanted and still can’t have.

Can have.

Just not in the way he wants.

He should have listened.

***

He can make it through two days – two days of being in the same house as the guy. It’s not like he ever comes downstairs anyway, and even if he did, it wouldn’t be the end of the world.

As Thursday draws nearer, excitement takes over a sort of gut-wrenching dread that had begun to creep up on Dean. But _Sammy’s coming to visit._ Nothing can ruin that.

Or so he hopes.

***

He does escape Cas for his last two days of work there. Meg makes an appearance both mornings, but always in a rush, so Dean can bottle his guilt and confusion for the time it takes to say ‘hi’, and ‘bye’. Though on Wednesday she adds a quick kiss on Dean’s cheek, and says: “Thanks for everything, Dean.” As if maybe, somehow, she knows that Dean doesn’t plan on seeing much of them from then on. He doesn’t even remember the last time she used his real name instead of ‘Winchester’, or ‘Dean-o’, or ‘handsome’. He will miss Meg, he feels bad that she got caught in the crossfire. Just another name to add to the Winchester guilt list.

Nevertheless, Dean’s practically bouncing on the spot as he waits in Lawrence Municipal, scanning the heads for his brother’s mop of brown or Jess’ beautiful blonde waves.

Sam sees him first, and Dean catches an arm towering over the crowd, waving manically at him. Before he knows it, he has a full-grown sasquatch wrapping him up in a crushing hug.

He grunts. “Sammy, need oxygen- to live.” Sam laughs and let him go, pouting when Dean reaches up to ruffle his hair.

He turns his attention to Jess, standing there all angelic, smiling at him. He feels something ease inside him.


	20. Chapter 20

**20**

The brothers and Jess go out for lunch at the Roadhouse, and that’s when they break the news. Dean’s always been pretty unobservant of these things, but even still he’s surprised when Jess waves her left hand in his face and he is presented with an emerald and diamond studded sliver band around her ring finger. But sue him – he’s allowed to be a little (a lot) distracted at the moment.

Dean lights up. “Sam,” he pulls his face into something serious for a moment. “I don’t know how you got someone so awesomely out of your league,” Sam gives him an amused bitch-face. “But never let her go. Congrats, guys.”

He leans over the table to give them both a quick hug and sits back down. Sam looks genuinely touched.

“Thanks, Dean.”

“Yeah, alright, enough chick-flicks, I see our food coming.”

“You’re the biggest sap of us all, Dean,” Jess beams. “You can’t hide it from us.”

“Hey!” Dean protests, “Sam’s the one who cried at Bambi.”

“Dean, everyone cries at Bambi,” Sam retorts. “You’d have to be soulless not to.”

“Whatever. Anyway, we should celebrate,” Dean gestures to the ring. “I told Charlie and the guys I’d drag you two back to the Roadhouse tonight anyway, maybe we can order champagne or something.”

“That sounds great, Dean. God, it’s been years since I’ve seen Charlie in person.”

***

The owner of the Roadhouse, and semi-mother-figure of Winchester sons comes over half way through the meal.

“Sam Winchester, as I live and breathe.”

Dean feels a sharp _thwak_ to the back of his head. “ _Ow_ ,” he grumbles, reaching a hand back to rub at the newly forming bruise.

“You never told me your brother was coming,” Ellen scolds him.

“I’m sorry, Ellen. I’ve been busy lately.”

“Yeah, so I hear,” Ellen snorts. “Over at that big house by the river.”

Dean looks up sharply. “Do you know Cas?”

She shakes her head. “Only by name.”

“Who’s Cas?” Sam asks, eagerly bending over the table like an overgrown puppy.

“No-one,” Dean grunts, at the same time Ellen says, “Dean’s latest client.”

“Ex-client,” Dean corrects. “Finished up with their house yesterday.”

“My mistake, Mr. Pedantic.” Ellen rolls her eyes, before turning to the happy couple. “So Jess, I see somethin’ shining on that hand of yours.”

Jess eagerly starts talking about ring-sizes and wedding photographers and Dean tries to look engaged but mostly he tunes out – after Ellen brought up Cas, it’s hard to get him out of Dean’s head.

***

“Yep, almost ready,” Dean says without looking up from his laptop. “Just gotta fire off a few emails and then we’re gone.”

Sam comes over and bends over Dean’s shoulder, although Dean thinks ‘looms’ would be a better expression for it.

***

_From: winchester.dean@fitzgeraldandsons.com_

_To: c.j.novak@hotmail.com_

_Hey Cas,_

_I’ve attached the final invoice to this email. If you and Meg ever need anything, don’t hesitate to ask._

_I hope I’ll see you around._

_Dean_

_***_

Dean wanted to be polite, at the very least. The guy had done nothing wrong, after all. Well, besides gripping Dean’s heart tight and pulling it up from the depths, only to turn around and tell him he didn’t want it. But Dean can’t blame him. Tries not to blame him.

Sam snorts. “What, are you trying to get into this ‘Cas’ chick’s pants or something?”

Dean bristles. “What are you talking about, Sammy?”

“Jeez, relax. You’d think she was the queen of England or something; ‘ _if you and Meg need anything, don’t_ hesitate _to ask’,”_ Sam reads.

“They’re kinda friends of mine, alright? Drop it.”

Sam raises his hands. “Alright, whatever, touchy.”

Dean ignores him.

***

Everything seemed so ordinary, so mundane, at six p.m. when the trio set off for the Roadhouse. There was no way to know that the next few hours would bring everything tumbling down, like a nuclear reaction; each small event in turn causing another, exponentially until eventually, everything explodes.

It starts, unbelievably, with Ash, blackout drunk already when they arrive, passed out on the pool table – not an uncommon occurrence, though never-endingly amusing to Dean.

“Ash,” Ellen is yelling as they come in. “You useless piece of shit, I need you to look at that damn cooker in the back.”

Sam takes a deep inhale beside him. “Ahh,” he sighs. “Just like home.”

Dean chuckles and leads them over to the usual booth. Charlie and Gilda aren’t there yet, which is unusual but Dean brushes it off to him being uncharacteristically punctual thanks to his guests. They sit alone in the booth, and Dean sees Jo dashing about serving people, he makes a mental note to steal her away for a bit so she and Sam can catch up at some point.

When Charlie and Gilda do come in, they have these odd little smiles on their face, and when Dean asks what they’re so happy about, they brush it off, pleading ignorance. Dean lets it go but keeps an eye on them.

***

Not long after, Garth arrives; as he had said he would to Dean – followed by Kevin, of course Kevin’s _mom_ , Linda, and even Adam. The whole gang is here to see Sam, and Dean’s heart warms at the thought.

They fall into eager, easy conversation, breaking off into little groups. Kevin and Sam are deep in conversation about some new study related to cryptography – ‘ _nerds’,_ Dean thinks fondly. Linda, Garth, and Charlie are asking Jess about the wedding plans, and how Sam proposed – and Dean thinks he should probably listen in to that story at some point – and how nice the ring is. Gilda is talking at Dean about this goddamn convention that she and Charlie never shut up about, but Dean can’t find it in himself to mind.

It’s the best night Dean’s had in god-knows how long (threesome not included, because how the hell do you even compare _that_ with a wholesome family gathering?), he feels safe and warm here, surrounded by his family – if not by blood, by choice, and that’s stronger in Dean’s books.

Dean eyes Gilda’s drink suspiciously. It’s too clear and not nearly colourful enough for the femme-and-flaunting-it lesbian. “What happened to the girly drinks?”

She avoids his stare. “What?” she asks defensively. “I’m branching out.”

Dean laughs. “What, onto the vodka already?”

“It’s gin and sprite,” she says proudly.

Dean makes a face. “That sounds horrible; you can keep your potions.”

He gets the uneasy impression she is, for some unfathomable reason, lying about something, but he leaves it, figuring he’ll get it out of her later when she’s drunker.

***

The place is warm and heady, and Dean’s advanced state of inebriation isn’t helping the sleepy feeling overtaking him. Shouts and chatter are a pleasant hum in the back of his mind, cigarette smoke drifting in from the open door, his friends laughing drunkenly around him.

There’s a noise that seems out of place with the rest, but Dean ignores it.

He downs the last of his whiskey, savouring the peaty burn of top-shelf stuff.

_“Ellen!”_

There it is again, that pesky sound, breaking through his peaceful, noiseless bubble. Dean blinks. There’s panic in that voice. He opens his eyes, not realising that they have slipped shut. From his seat at the table, he turns to look into the kitchen as its door swings open and shut from servers coming to and fro. He watches it for a moment, pleased and entranced, before something catches his eye.

'That’s not right', his last semblance of sobriety thinks.

“Guys,” he says to nobody in particular. He isn’t heard over the clamour, so he tries again. “Guys,” a bit louder this time, and Sam turns to him.

“Yeah Dean?”

And then it happens, all in one big rush, the heat pours from the kitchen like viscous liquid, followed by a burst of light.

Dean rears back and scrambles to unsteady feet, turning to the group. “Get out!” he yells, voice hoarse with alcohol and disuse. “Everyone out, now!” He grabs Jess’ arm from beside him and hauls her to her feet, pushing her towards the door.

The whole bar has realised now, and there’s a rush towards both exits, voices panicky and overlapping, harsh in Dean’s ears, but he barely hears them.

An alarm goes off, then, but again Dean doesn’t acknowledge it. “Sam,” he meets his brother’s eyes, who is already on his feet, arm around his fiancé, rushing them to safety.

A glance back towards the kitchen lets him know the place is _fucked_ , hot white flames engulf the whole room, lapping at the doorframe. Acrid black smoke quickly pours into the main room; Dean can feel it crackle in his lungs already.

His mind deliberately blank, while simultaneously screaming at him, Dean takes stock of the bar. Kevin and his mother are almost out, Garth not far behind, Sam and Jess nowhere in sight, presumably outside already. He feels a sick twist deep in his stomach when he turns back to the booth; Charlie is screaming in Gilda’s face, shaking her shoulders, but Gilda is out cold.

Dean grabs Charlie’s arm, time moving funnily in bursts of slow and fast. “Charlie, he shouts, “Go, I’ve got her.” Charlie starts to protest, but Dean shuts her up. “Trust me.”

She nods and glances back at Gilda before rushing out the door. Dean leans down and hooks an arm under Gilda’s knees, another around her shoulders, and lifts, feelings his joints protest at the strain. He staggers upright, and turns to the door, before veering to the side at a series of deafening _pop_ s beside him. He realises the bar has caught alight, glass bottles of straight alcohol being set off like pipe bombs with the heat.

He ignores them and goes as fast as his legs will carry him towards the door. He’s almost out when he just happens to glance back inside, and his heart drops.

_Ash._

Ash is still spread-eagled on the pool table. It isn’t far, but the fire is spreading across the wooden tables and dry old carpets, and most of the room swirls with suffocating smoke. He stumbles into the cold air and sets Gilda down as gently as he can while hurrying. He allows himself two gasps of the clean night air, cleansing but nauseating, before he grabs his shirt and pulls it up over his face.

As he turns to go back in, he catches sight of Sam, wide eyed and unmistakable in the crowd outside. Dean sees the terror in his eyes, pleading with him, it tugs with familiarity at his heart.

Dean gives a slight shake of his head, and then he’s back in.

***

He can only have been gone for twenty seconds, thirty, tops, but in that time the fire has spread enormously. Flames extend their long threatening fingers towards the pool table and Dean wastes no time in sprinting over, eyes squinting, burning horribly in the smoke. He grabs Ash unceremoniously – he’s substantially heavier than Gilda was. Dean grunts and feels his lungs protest as he hauls Ash step by aching step towards the door.

His vision is blacking out. He relies on muscle memory to make it the last few feet.

And then he’s collapsing on cold concrete, Ash being rolled away from him. He heaves in breaths; they hurt, singeing his airways like water poured over an open fire.

But he’s out. He did it. He can breathe.


	21. Chapter 21

**21**

He doesn’t know how long he’s been kneeling on the hard street before the sirens approach, blaring louder than the alarm behind him. Which then abruptly stops. 

A firm, gentle hand takes Dean’s arm and he looks up into a kind face.

“Sir,” it says, frowning. “Are you hurt? What’s your name?”

Dean swallows thickly. “Dean,” he croaks. “I’m fine.”

The kind stranger looks disbelieving. “Come on, Dean, we need to check you out. Seems like you inhaled quite a bit of smoke back there.”

Without quite knowing how he got there, Dean’s being bundled into the back of an ambulance. He goes willingly, too exhausted to protest, until he hears a familiar voice from nearby.

“Please,” there’s a panic in Charlie’s voice that Dean’s never heard before, he can’t see her but he can tell she’s crying. “Please, she fainted, there was the smoke and, I don’t know. But you have to help her, she’s pregnant.”

Dean blacks out.

***

“Eugh,” Dean grunts, his tongue clicking against a thick, bitter mouth. What had he been drinking – to feel like this? His throat burns with every breath, his lungs ache, his head pounds.

He opens his eyes to dim white squares on the ceiling. Hospital.

It all comes flooding back and he bolts upright, regretting it when his head spins and his ears ring.

“Dean?”

Sam’s on one of those comfy-looking lounge chairs you see sometimes in hospitals, Jess curled up into his side, sleeping.

“Sam,” Dean croaks. “Is everyone okay?”

Sam’s face sags with relief, forehead lines relaxing in one big rush. He nods, “Pretty much, yeah. Ash has some pretty nasty smoke inhalation injuries, Ellen had some burns but she’s getting patched up, they say she should be fine. The rest were just minor things.”

Dean lets his head fall back on the overly-plumped pillow. “Thank fuck,” he says, eyes slipping shut. After a moment he opens them again and takes stock of his situation – there’s a line going into his arm, but he’d guess it’s just giving him fluids, and he has an oxygen tube sitting below his nose.

“Alright,” he grunts as he sits up further, “Let’s get outta here.”

Sam careens forward, dislodging Jess. “Woah, Dean, slow down. What’s the rush? You need to rest.”

Dean gives Sam a look that he hopes conveys just how tired he is. “I just wanna go home and sleep, Sammy.” 

He can see it work on Sam, his eyebrows pulling into a sympathetic look. “Yeah, alright, okay. I’ll go find a nurse. Your clothes are in the drawer there.” He shakes Jess awake gently and she comes-to like a baby deer.

***

Dean is doing up his last button when Sam appears, hovering in the doorway. The nurse came and advised him to stay but he charmed her into letting him leave. She removed his tubes and gave him some extra-strength painkiller lozenges for his throat, telling him to come back in if anything seems wrong.

“You ready?” Sam asks.

“Yeah,” Dean’s voice is hoarse and raspy and it hurts like a bitch to talk or swallow, but he’s just glad everyone’s okay. He wanders over to Sam, stopping him when he turns to leave with a hand on his arm. “Listen, you take these,” he hands Sam the keys to the Impala and his apartment. “Take Jess back, get some rest. I just want to check up on everyone.”

Sam frowns at him. “Dean, it’s three in the morning; they’re all sleeping.”

“Then I won’t talk to them- look, Sammy, I just. I need to do this.” He gives Sam a heavy look and he seems to accept it. “I don’t know how long I’ll be, just leave the door unlocked and I’ll get a taxi back.”

“Alright, Dean, if you’re sure.”

Dean has a feeling the only reason Sam accepted was because Jess was already falling asleep again in the waiting room.

***

He didn’t go and visit anyone. He took Sam’s word that they were all alright, he had to. There was something else he needed to do right now.

“I never even knew this place was out here.” Of-fucking-course he had to get a chatty driver. “You know the owner?”

Dean nods, “They just moved in,” he croaks.

The bumpy gravel road is strangely comforting at this point, and Dean lets out a breath when the North-East turret comes into view through the trees. The house is lit by moonlight, eerily dark otherwise.

The taxi pulls up, Dean hands him a couple of bills, nods his thanks before getting out, and takes a long look up at the house. He’s thankful in this moment that he hadn’t given back his key just yet. His hands are shaking lightly as he turns it, but the door complies with him eventually.

He finds his way up three flights of stairs in the blind dark on muscle memory alone, feeling along the walls to help guide him. Finally, he’s up the spiral staircase. He knocks on the wall and rasps, “Cas.”

A dim light turns on inside the room and he hears a confused, “Dean?”

He takes the last few steps up until he sees Cas, squinting over at him in the semi-dark, hair sticking up at odd angles, sheets drawn up to his bare chest.

“Dean,” Cas frowns. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

Dean steps surely but slowly towards the bed, stopping when he’s level with Cas’ head. “Cas,” he breathes, a hand reaching up to cup his cheek. “Need you.” He bends down and captures Cas’ lips in his own. He feels Cas’ hand rest on his hip. They stay in this tender stance for a moment before Cas pulls away, just a little.

“Dean,” he says against Dean’s lips. “Why are you-“

“Please,” Dean interrupts, close to begging, but he’s too tired to care. “Please can I just. Can I stay, just for tonight?”

Cas nods slightly, head knocking Dean’s. “Whatever you need.”

***

Dean takes off his jeans and his button up, leaving him in only his boxers. Cas lifts the sheets for him to clamber into the cave of heat and safety. He faces away from Cas, and feels a solid, hot mass press up against him after a moment, Cas’ breath tickling the nape of his neck. Dean fumbles around until he finds Cas’ arm and brings it around to hold it against his front.

“Is this okay?” he asks quietly.

“I…” he feels Cas release a breath. “Yes. This is okay.”

The lay there for an indeterminate number of minutes, breath syncing up over time, getting used to the others’ presence before Cas speaks again. “You stink of smoke.”

Dean chuckles, and then coughs. “Yeah,” he clears his throat gingerly. “Sorry ‘bout that. I’ll fill you in tomorrow.”

They fall asleep quickly after that, and Dean sleeps soundly.

***

Cas has no curtains, and Dean’s eyes protest when he wakes up. He has no idea what time it is, but the room is bright, and the sun is high in the sky. Cas is still plastered to his back, sleeping soundly.

Dean starts at the jangling of his phone. It must still be in his pants pocket. He bends down to search for it, returning to the comfort of Cas’ arms once he finds it.

“H’llo?” he chokes out, raising the phone to his ear.

“Dean?” Sam’s exasperated tone rings from the speaker. “Where the hell are you?”

“What’s going on?” Cas rumbles from beside him, and despite himself Dean smiles a little at Cas’ deep morning voice.

“Oh my god,” Sam squeaks, “are you _with_ someone?!”

“No,” Dean feels heat rise in his cheeks. “Shut up, Sammy, I stayed with a friend. I shouldn’t have to explain myself to you; I can barely talk right now.” He coughs to emphasise his point.

“Dean,” Sam says, and Dean can (as always) hear his bitch-face. “It’s noon! Jess and I are only just awake, or I would’ve called sooner.”

“Noon?” Dean squawks. “Jesus. Yeah, alright, I’ll be back home by, uh… one.”

“It’s fine, Dean, I’m glad you actually got some rest, at least.”

“Yeah, yeah. Sorry about ditching you at the prom, Samantha.”

“Jerk.”

“Bitch. See you soon.” Dean hangs up and throws his cell off the bed into a pile of clothes, uncaring whose they are.

He turns to Cas, who is blinking lazily at him. “Hey.”

Dean clears his throat awkwardly. “Heya, Cas. I- uh. Sorry, about last night.”

Cas is still looking at him, expression unreadable. “It’s alright, Dean. You were clearly distressed about something. Do you want to talk about it?”

Dean shakes his head. “Like I said to Sammy, talking does actually hurt like a bitch right now.”

“Alright,” Cas accepts this. “If you’re sure you’re okay…”

“Yeah, thanks Cas. It was a rough night but I’m fine.” He sighs. “Everyone’s fine.” He squeezes Cas’ shoulder. “Cliff-notes: fire at the Roadhouse, everyone’s fine, just some minor injuries.”

Cas raises his eyebrows and sits up a bit. “Holy shit,” he says. “You were there?”

Dean nods. “I’m still piecing it together, honestly.” He looks up at Cas’ curious expression. “Listen, I’m gonna head back to mine and probably grab some lunch with my brother, but you’re welcome to come along, y’know, hear the full story from someone with an intact throat. And get some food. If you want.” Dean’s strangely nervous, and he realises Cas has never even been to his apartment, and here he is sleeping in the man’s bed.

Cas seems to consider. “Yes, alright. Thank you, Dean.”

“Cool. Okay, well. I’ll get dressed and we can head off.”

***

“Here,” Cas has laid out some boxer-briefs, sweat pants, a plain black t-shirt, and a soft looking deep red hoodie on the bed while Dean used the bathroom. “Your clothes really do stink.”

Dean feels his heart pound. “Thanks, man.”

“It’s mostly selfish,” Cas’ mouth tilts up at the side playfully. “I don’t want to be stuck in a car that reeks like a bonfire.”

“Heh, sure.” Dean grabs the clothes and starts dressing before realising. “Shit, I don’t have my car. I took a cab here last night.”

“Meg has today off,” Cas says. “I can drive.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Small disclaimer: I am no medical professional and I'm pretty sure Dean should have stayed in hospital longer with his extent of smoke inhalation, but- well. We know how Dean can be! He had somewhere much more important to go anyway.


	22. Chapter 22

**22**

They’re mostly silent on the drive over, partly because of Dean’s throat and partly because it seems comfortable to listen to Cas’ terrible music instead of talking. Dean’s never even heard of _‘Bonobo’_ , but Cas seems happy so he shuts his mouth – for the most part. He gets a call from Charlie part way through the drive.

“Hey Charlie,” he answers.

“Dean! Are you okay? Sam said you were but I had to check for myself.”

“Yeah, I’m good, thanks. Scratchy throat, that’s it. How are you and Gilda?”

“We’re okay, shaken up but physically fine, thank god.”

A memory sparks in Dean. “Hey, did I imagine Gilda saying she’s pregnant?”

Cas’ head snaps around to look at Dean, and he remembers that he's their friend.

“Uh,” Charlie hesitates.

“Sorry if I’m overstepping,” Dean adds quickly. “I’m just trying to sort through everything that happened last night.”

“No, no, it’s fine. You were bound to find out sooner rather than later. It’s early, so we weren’t telling, but the cat’s out of the bag, I guess.”

“Holy crap,” Dean grins. “Congrats, guys. So, what, you were sneaking off to do IVF or something?”

Charlie laughs, the sound crackling down the line. “You could say that. We had a- um. Private benefactor, let’s say.” She sounds mischievous, but Dean doesn’t dwell on it.

“Well, I’m really happy for you two. Anyway, I’m almost at my place, I'd better go. I’ll talk to you soon.”

***

They get back to Dean’s at a quarter to one, and Sam has left the door unlocked, as instructed. He lets himself and Cas into the front hall, suddenly self-conscious of any dirty laundry or unwashed dishes that might be around. He ignores the feeling.

“Well, here we are,” he flips on the light. “Welcome to my humble abode, mi casa es su casa and all that.”

Cas is looking around with a small smile. “I like it,” he says.

Dean snorts. “You’ve only seen the hallway.”

“It’s very you.”

It’s at that point that Sam interrupts. “Dean? There you are.” He’s enveloped in his second Sam-bear-hug of the last forty-eight hours, and he pushes his brother off him.

“Sam, I’m fine, don’t make me yell at you, I’m sure it wouldn’t be good for me.”

Sam rolls his eyes dramatically, before seeming to notice Cas.

“Uh, Sam, this is Cas. Castiel. Cas, this is my brother, Sam.”

The two shake hands. “Nice to meet you, Sam.”

There’s an odd expression on Sam’s face, something between confusion and amusement, but he’s being perfectly polite. “You too, man. Hey, was it your house that Dean was working on last?”

“Yes, my friend Meg and I recently bought a property that needed some attention.”

Sam nods in understanding. “I’m sure Dean did a great job, anyway it’s good to meet you.”

They walk through to the kitchen-slash-dining-room where Jess is making coffee, and introductions are had all over again, Jess smiling brightly at the unexpected guest.

“Would you like a coffee?” she asks politely.

“That would be lovely, thank you Jessica. Just a little milk in mine.”

“I’ll have mine black,” Dean adds.

Jess raises an eyebrow at Dean’s expectancy but does as he asks with a smile and a roll of her eyes.

***

They all sit at the kitchen table with their coffee (Sam has tea, just to be different), talking about last night.

“I’ve been on the phone to Ellen already,” Sam explains. “The fire department are saying it was electrical, one of the ovens in the back was faulty or something.” He shakes his head, his face a deep frown. “The place was so old and dry, it went up just like that,” he clicks his fingers.

“It’s so awful,” Jess adds. “At least it was insured.”

Sam nods. “Yeah, I don’t know what she’ll do – whether she’ll rebuild from that place or go somewhere new.”

“So you all know the owner?” Cas asks.

“Yeah,” Sam chuckles. “She’s kinda like an adoptive mom to me and Dean, when our mom died and our dad couldn’t do it anymore, Ellen and our uncle Bobby took us in.”

Dean shifts awkwardly in his chair. He hasn’t mentioned his parents to Cas. He doesn’t talk about his parents – ever. Sam has always been a little more comfortable with the subject. He feels eyes on him, but when he looks over, Cas is just smiling softly at him.

“Dean, though,” Sam carries on. “Dean was the real hero last night.”

Dean blushes and waves a hand in dismissal. “I only did what anyone would do.”

Sam scoffs. “Not just anyone would do _that_ , Dean.” He turns to Cas, eager to tell the tale. “So, Jess and I have made it out of the bar before most people, and we’re standing out there, useless, just watching the whole place empty out, some familiar faces some not, and we’re just searching the crowd for Dean, but we don’t see him; which was weird since he was the first one of us who even spotted the fire.

“And pretty much all our friends are out by this point, and I can see that they’re all looking too, and I’m starting to get pretty worried here. And then finally he comes out of the smoke carrying Gilda, bridal style, drops to his knees and lays her down like someone out of a goddamn movie, and I’m just standing there through all this, thinking how awesome what he just did was. And then, get this, he stands up and _goes back in_.” Sam chuckles disbelievingly and Cas glances at Dean with a frown. “And we’re all thinking: ‘ _what the fuck? Is he on a suicide mission?’_ until he comes out again with none other than Ash in his arms, who had been passed out all evening. It was _insane_.”

“Holy shit,” Cas murmurs, and Dean can see Cas looking at him from out of the corner of his eye, but he stares into his coffee. “That was very brave of you, Dean.”

“And incredibly stupid,” Jess pipes up cheerfully. Sam gives her a look. “What?” she protests. “I’m just saying: he could’ve gotten himself killed. I’m glad he didn’t, and I’m glad Gilda and Ash are okay, but it was a job for the fire rescue team.”

He can see that Sam’s about to defend him when Cas speaks up instead. “You have a point,” he says, “But it doesn’t matter. It’s done now.” Dean startles a little when he feels a hand plant solidly on his shoulder. “I’m glad you’re alright, Dean.” There’s a look in his eyes that Dean thinks means ‘ _but if you ever do something that stupid again I will drag you into hell myself’._ A smile creeps up on Dean without his brain’s permission.

“Thanks, Cas. Me too.”

***

Dean tries to keep his mouth shut from then on, since despite the kick-ass painkillers the nurse gave him, his throat is throbbing. So, instead he sets about making them all sandwiches, listening in to their conversation while he works.

“So Cas,” his brother says in a tone Dean knows all too well. Why did he ever bring Cas here again? “You met Dean through his work?”

“Yes,” Cas replies, oblivious to Sam’s prying ways. “My housemate and I needed to move in early so we saw a lot of each other. Since then we’ve become friends.”

“That’s awesome,” Sam replies with a touch too much enthusiasm. “You seem great, man. Dean needs a good influence on him.”

Cas chuckles at that. “I don’t know much about good influence, Sam. But I do my best.”

Sam shrugs. “That’s all any of us do.”

“So, you’re a lawyer?” Cas deftly changes the subject.

“Oh yeah, Jess and I both are.”

“That must be interesting.”

“It’s not bad,” Sam nods, “it’s a lot of work but we both love it.”

“We’ve been following stuff over here for a while, actually,” Jess chimes in. “Have you heard of the ‘ _Marie v. Moser’_ case?”

Cas nods. “Of course,” he says. “The lesbian couples that are being denied marriage licenses.”

This is the first Dean has heard of any of it.

“Yeah, exactly,” Sam replies.

“Well we’ve got a friend down here that is pretty close to it. They say it’s looking good.”

“Good. I hope they make a difference.”

“Yeah, me too,” Sam smiles earnestly. “It’s terrible that same-sex marriage still isn’t allowed.”

Dean can’t tell if Cas has caught on to Sam’s hints yet, but he replies nonetheless. “It is. Then again, it’s not like I’ll ever get married, anyway.”

“No, seriously Cas – it’s looking good, and with the protests…” Sam trails off with a little smile as if he thinks he’s gotten through to Cas.

“You misunderstand, Sam,” Cas says kindly. “I don’t _want_ to get married. Ever.”

“Oh,” Sam looks a little taken aback but goes on. “Well it’s not everybody’s cup of tea, I get that.”

Cas lets it go, and Dean’s a little thankful. The reminder of Cas’ feelings is a little like a bucket of ice cold water being poured over him, especially after the tender domesticity of last night.

“Alright,” Dean says. “Soup’s up.”

***

Their conversation remains casual over lunch, thankfully, and Cas announces he’s going home after, giving the others some family time. Dean walks him to the door and they both pause in the hallway, unable to meet the other’s eye.

“So,” Cas says finally. “It was nice to meet your brother. And, I’m glad you’re okay.” He pauses but Dean can tell he’s building up to something. “I’m glad you came.”

Dean frowns momentarily – Cas came here with him, not the other way around. Unless- “You mean last night?”

“Yes,” Cas says in a rush of breath. “It was… nice.”

Dean smiles a little unsurely. “Listen, Cas, could we talk at some point? I just. I’m sorry. I was kinda avoiding you. It wasn’t cool.”

“I suspected,” Cas says, but doesn’t seem hurt. “Yes, I think talking would be a good idea. How long are your brother and Jess here for?”

“They leave Sunday, but they’re staying with our uncle Bobby Saturday night. You could come over then? Seven-ish?”

“That will be fine. See you then, Dean.”

They stand there awkwardly for a moment, just staring at each other, before Dean breaks the silence and steps forward, wrapping Cas in a brief but meaningful hug.

It feels right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, technically the 'Marie v. Moser' case was late 2014, and this fic is set early 2014, but I used a little artistic license since I think it's interesting and definitely would be something Sam and Jess would've been up on at the time.


	23. Chapter 23

**23**

The only remark Sam makes about Cas in the next twenty-four hours is to say, “So, Cas seems like a good guy,” until, of course, they’re saying goodbye. It’s after a huge meal at Bobby’s around Saturday lunchtime (but that spanned well through the afternoon in their chat and revelry), that Sam follows Dean out onto the front porch and gives him a meaningful look.

Dean eyes him warily. “Sammy, if you’re about to propose, I’m telling Jess.”

Sam scoffs and rolls his eyes. “Shut up. Listen, I just wanted to say… Cas seemed really nice.” He raised an expectant eyebrow.

“Yeah, you said that already,” Dean grunts. He knows what Sam is fishing for but at the very least he’s gonna make his brother come out with it himself.

“Dean,” Sam protests. “You could’ve told me. About _guys_ at least – I mean, I knew, well I suspected, we shared a room when you were a teenager, but – it would’ve been nice to hear it from you. And I’m glad you introduced me and Jess to Cas, but again, you could’ve told us.”

Dean closes his eyes for a minute in a silent prayer for strength. “Yeah, it’s uh. It’s not like that. With me and Cas.”

Sam huffs and crosses his arms. “Yeah, sure Dean. Denial isn’t just a river in Egypt.”

“I’m not in denial,” Dean replies tersely, then sighs and looks away. “Okay, I’m sorry about the- the bisexual thing. About never telling you. It just never seemed important. It’s not like I had someone to introduce you to ever.”

Sam softens. “Until now,” he says carefully.

Dean’s head twitches a soft ‘no’. “Nah man. Cas isn’t… into that stuff.”

“Men?” Sam’s voice drips with disbelief. “Dean, he knew about all the gay marriage stuff, and-“

“Sammy, stop.” Dean cuts him off. “It’s not that. He just isn’t into relationships.”

“Why not?” Of course Sam wouldn’t get it – freshly engaged to his college sweetheart, no variations on traditional monogamy there.

“It’s not like he had a bad breakup or something,” Dean tries to explain. “It’s just how he is.” Dean throws his arms up in frustration. “He ain’t looking for a partner.”

“Oh.” Sam seems to consider this for a while before saying, “Okay.”

“That’s it? _‘Okay’_?”

Sam shrugs. “Hey, whatever makes the guy happy. But Dean- “

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean interrupts again. “I know what you’re gonna say. Don’t get into it with him, give it space, get over him, yadda yadda.”

“No, that wasn’t what I was going to say at all,” Sam huffs in amused exasperation. “And I don’t think it’s what _you_ think, or want, either. I was going to tell you to keep the guy around. I’ve never seen you that… comfortable around anyone. The way the two of you just seem to _fit_ -“ Sam’s got that serious sappy look on his face that Dean hates. “-I don’t know how to explain it. I mean, don’t break your own heart over him or anything, or his, but… I dunno, I think he’s worth a shot at something, even if it is unconventional.”

Dean’s struck in an uncommon moment of surprised silence. He collects himself, clears his throat. “Well, uh, thanks Sammy. For the support, I guess. I’ll keep that in mind.”

Sam smiles at him, looking like the cat that got the cream. “Alright, well, I’ll let you go now. Chick-flick moment is over, you’re free.”

“Thank fuck,” Dean chuckles. “I thought it would never end.”

The two hug briefly, exchange a few words about holidays and future visits, and then Dean’s heading off back to his apartment, back to his appointment with Cas which, admittedly, he has a slightly altered mind-set towards now.

***

In the hour before Cas is due to arrive, Dean busies himself with cleaning up the remains of his guests’ breakfast, straightening up the guest bedroom, and wringing his hands, trying to collect his thoughts. Eventually, once he’s gone over approximately nine different outcomes, he shakes himself out of it, walking determinedly to the kitchen and getting a beer, before flopping down on the couch with it in front of the TV. He mindlessly channel-surfs while the clock ticks slowly on.

He startles a little at the knock on the door, but quickly composes himself.

“Dean,” Cas greets. He looks handsome as ever; dressed in dark jeans and a plain black button-up – it’s a little more formal than what he wears at home and Dean’s not sure what to make of that.

“Hey Cas,” Dean replies, and gestures for him to come inside. On their way to the living room Dean asks, “Want a beer?” Cas nods, so Dean fetches him one from the fridge before joining Cas on the couch – the two men sit at opposite ends like thirteen-year-olds on their first date in their parents’ house. Dean supposes it is pretty uncharted territory, for him at least.

“So,” Cas says all too casually after he’s had a few mouthfuls of beer. “Any chance you wanna have sex first? Ease the tension?”

Dean laughs at that, falling back on the couch, a little more relaxed. He bobs his head. “That’s not a bad idea,” he admits. “But I have a feeling we might end up a little distracted, and never end up actually talking. I think we should at least try for an honest conversation first.”

Cas frowns. “You’re probably right,” he says. Then after a beat, “I use sex to deflect.”

Dean raises an eyebrow. “ _Okay…_ ”

“You said we were having an honest conversation. That was me being honest.”

Dean considers him for a moment. “When I first went to your house,” he offers, “I snooped in one of the boxes and looked through your photos.”

Cas chuckles. Then, “I really want to keep having sex with you but I’m afraid you’ll become attached in ways I can’t reciprocate.” He doesn’t look at Dean.

Jumping right in, then. “Ditto.”

“You can’t have my one, that’s cheating.”

Dean huffs a laugh. “Fine,” he says. “I lied to Meg.” Cas looks at him. “I told her I was okay with you leaving after the threesome, but the truth is I wanted you there with me in bed.”

“I don’t sleep in the same bed as the people I fuck,” Cas’ eyebrows are drawn in, “Meg excluded. But the other night, with you, it was… okay. I didn’t mind.”

Dean lets out a breath. “I really like you.”

“It scares me that you really like me.”

“It scares _me_ that I really like you.”

“Cheating.”

“Fine.” Dean thinks for a moment. “I wish you wanted to be with me.”

Cas’ jaw twitches and his mouth turns down at the corner.

“But,” Dean adds quickly, worried he has upset Cas. “Mostly I want to learn how to do this. To be okay with this. Because, I gotta tell you, Cas, part of me isn’t. I wish I was, but I’m just not – not completely.”

Cas nods in understanding, watches Dean closely for a moment, then says quietly: “I wish I wanted to be with you, too.”

“That’s cheating, Cas.”

He laughs and Dean considers it a success. “I think the game is over,” he says. “I think it’s a stalemate.”

“Sam thought we were together, you know.”

“Mm,” Cas says thoughtfully. “I wondered.”

“I set him straight,” Dean tells him. “Earlier. He told me to keep you around, he likes you.”

Cas smiles at this. “I liked him, too.”

***

They sit in a comfortable silence for a couple of minutes before Dean sighs. “So,” he says. “Do you think it would be a disaster to just… _try_?”

“Try what exactly?”

Dean shrugs. “Friendship, sex, maybe the occasional slap on the butt in the kitchen…”

Cas snorts. “I think I could handle that.”

“Okay. That’s a start. So, like, what are you and what aren’t you cool with?”

“I think…” Cas trails off, looking to the distance before answering. “I think I would be okay with kissing, without an expectation of sex. We could try it, anyway. A lot of physical things I’m good with. But – and I have to be blunt because otherwise I don’t think this will work – there will be others.”

Dean nods, hardening his resolve. “Alright then. Let’s give this thing a go.”

***

Their conversation turns lighter, chatting about the house, the city, Sam and Jess. The evening wears on and they drink more beer, Dean opens some chips. Dean realises he hasn’t had a lot of time to just be alone with Cas. A thought occurs to him then.

“Did you avoid me?” He asks in a neutral tone.

“What? When?”

Dean shrugs. “When I was working on the house,” he answers. “You were always up in your room. I basically only saw you when Meg was there too, unless I was working on your room, or something.”

“Oh,” Cas looks down at his hands. “Maybe a little. It wasn’t really a conscious decision, I just, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to keep my hands to myself some of the time and I didn’t want things to get complicated.”

“And then I went and fucked that right up, huh,” Dean chuckles.

“You fucked it up perfectly.”

“That was a pretty good night.”

“Only _pretty_ good?”

“Yeah, okay, fucking amazing.”

Cas smiles, a slow, self-indulgent thing. “I thought so too. I’d been wanting to touch you for so long. Though,” his smile turns mischievous, “we didn’t get nearly enough time with one another.”

A flicker of tension, of heat, is building between them. “Well,” Dean says carefully. “We’re both here now, aren’t we?”

“That we are,” Cas grins, catlike, and leans over until he’s in Dean’s space, not close enough to touch but nearly.

Dean’s eyes flutter shut and his breath catches, unexpectedly affected so quickly. “Want you,” he says quietly, voice rough.

With an exhale, Cas captures Dean’s lips in his own, hand coming up to grip Dean’s shoulder, claiming, possessive.

Dean’s a little surprised that he likes that, but decides to roll with it. “Fuck,” he breathes, before moving his lips to Cas’ jaw, revelling in the feeling of stubble there, _reminding_ him who he is with. He can hear Cas’ short pants in his ear and the sound goes straight to his groin. Heat pools in his gut with Cas’ every sound, every move.

Without quite knowing how it happened, suddenly Cas is on top of him, knees straddling thighs, one hand on Dean’s neck, the other touching skin where his shirt has ridden up. “Tell me what you want, Dean.”

“Fuck, just,” Dean is barely coherent, barely knows what he’s saying. Cas’ hands on him, mouth by his, it doesn’t feel real. But it is real. “Just touch me, just fucking touch me, Cas.”

Cas grunts and his hand slides further down Dean’s body, dipping just under the waistband of Dean’s underwear.

They never got to do this last time; the teasing, aching foreplay before the big show-down.

Dean feels a sudden rush of want and surges up to graze Cas’ neck with his teeth, tongue flicking out to taste, nose buried at the juncture between hair and skin, he wants it, all of it. Cas sucks in a sharp breath at Dean’s vigour and grinds down on Dean, and Dean feels friction, blessed friction. He lets out a groan and bucks up, chasing the feeling.

Cas chuckles huskily, clearly as affected as Dean if the bulge Dean can feel is any indication, and it usually is. “Fuck, Cas. Can’t…” Dean grunts and reaches a hand between them, wriggling it down to his fly, “Can’t wait.”

Cas moans filthy against his ear and his hips twitch forward into Dean’s busy hand. Another hand joins his and soon both pants are unbuttoned and unzipped, Cas whispering dirty promises into Dean’s hair.

Dean reaches a hand down Cas’ underwear and feels hot, _hot_ skin, he strokes along the hard-soft heat, eliciting a gasp from beside his head. “Dean,” Cas rumbles, low and with abandon, thrusting in small jerks into Dean.

“Say it,” Dean pants, already losing it. “Say my name. Fuck, love it when you say my name. So fucking sexy, Cas.”

He feels Cas grin against his neck where his head has fallen in rapture. “Dean,” he groans, low and dirty. “Fuck, Dean, keep doing that.” Dean feels a hand work between them and into his pants. At the first curl of Cas’ fingers around his aching hardness, Dean is lost.

“ _Nnngh_ ,” Dean has been reduced to a state of non-verbal communication, all memory of the English language lost. When Cas pulls Dean from his zipper and he feels the first tantalizing touch of skin on skin, of cock on cock, Dean gasps, grasping at Cas’ shoulders with both hands, Cas taking both cocks in one, big hand. His long fingers are ever as deft as Dean imagined them to be as they guide Dean closer to the edge, stroking quickly but not overwhelming, occasionally the odd twist or flick that makes Dean see stars.

Dean is vaguely aware that he is chanting, “ _Cas, Cas, Cas…”_ but he doesn’t care. The feeling of Cas’ body, so firm, so real, right there, slithering against him, Cas’ hand tightening now over both of them – it’s too much.

“CAAAaas,” Dean grits out as he comes, white hot, spilling over Cas’ hand and both their cocks. “Aargh,” Dean’s head tips back onto the back of the couch, unable to even open his eyes.

Cas is still going, and takes advantage of the new position, mouth latching onto Dean’s shoulder, the only available skin close to his neck, and bites down, sucking and nipping and licking. Dean is taken along for the ride, his oversensitive dick sending jolts of painful pleasure deep into his gut as Cas works himself closer to finish.

With an impressively wanton moan, he feels Cas empty himself onto Dean’s stomach, probably all over their clothes, too, but Dean _really_ can’t bring himself to care right now.

“Fuck, Dean.”


	24. Chapter 24

**24**

Cas breathes heavily into Dean’s shoulder for a moment, then places an apologetic kiss over the spot he bit in the heat of the moment. “Sorry,” he says, and looks like he definitely does not mean it.

Dean grins lopsidedly. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll just have to pay you back with one of your own, later.”

“Is that a proposition, Dean Winchester?”

Dean shrugs coyly, though it comes across as more of a twitch because of his position under Cas and his exhaustion. “Might be. You’ll have to stay and find out.”

Cas chuckles, and Dean can feel it in his chest. He really likes that feeling. “ _Oh_ , I see how it is,” Cas drawls. “You think you can trap me into domesticity with promises of filth.”

“Am I wrong?”

***

Dean is not wrong. Cas spends the night – even presses up against Dean’s back once they’re done with round two a couple hours later, relaxed and pliant and surprisingly affectionate, once he is two orgasms sated and sleepy.

Dean falls asleep happy in Cas’ arms, but just as he drifts off he thinks to himself that if he can have this, just sometimes, just when Cas feels like it, then it will all work out. Everything will be alright.

That night, he dreams of flying and falling, soaring through the sky, and when he looks up there are vast black wings above him, holding him strong and steady miles above the earth. They aren’t his wings, though; they fold and twist out from the shoulder-blades of Castiel above him, arms tight around Dean. Dream-Cas smiles down at Dean, then looks beyond him at the world spinning below. “Look,” he nods, indicating Dean to do the same. “Isn’t it beautiful?”

Dean looks down and has an overwhelming sense of vertigo, as if he really is falling thousands of feet to the earth. His head snaps back to Cas and it stops. It stills.

***

**Six Months Later**

***

Dean has the phone pressed between his shoulder and ear and he nods at the clerk, taking his sandwich, before shuffling everything so he can talk into his phone. “Yeah, I’ll let you know. We should be back by, uhh,” he checks his watch. “Ten-ish?”

“Alright. You’d better. I’m going crazy over here.”

They’d decided to try it out: exclusivity. Just for a while, just to see if it fit. So far it seemed okay, Cas seemed okay with it – but it meant that Cas was downright insatiable; whenever he saw Dean, by the end of the night they would have found a bed somewhere, a dark corner, one time even a (vacated) child’s bedroom. That had been a low point. Dean had put his foot down after that and said no more sex outside of their own homes. That rule lasted all of a week and a half.

Cas still fooled around with Meg, sometimes. Sometimes the three of them did, although not often. If there was a chance to be with Cas, in all honesty, Dean would rather be with him alone.

Dean chuckles. “Yeah, yeah. You miss me, I get it.”

It has only been three days. Charlie had dragged Dean to that convention, ‘Kantcon’, a few months ago, and Dean had to admit he really liked it. So, two weeks ago when she had asked Dean to come with her and Gilda to ‘2D Con’ in Minneapolis, he’d only put up a weak protest for show before booking the week off work and buying a return flight. The plane journey wasn’t even too bad – Cas had given him some Valium (and Dean had pointedly avoided asking where he got it), and with headphones blasting Lynyrd Skynyrd, the hour and a half positively breezed by.

Dean is still anxious about the return they would be getting in a few hours, though.

He brings the sandwiches over to Charlie and Gilda sitting on a low outdoor bench under the leaves just starting to turn. He sits down and cradles his coffee, frowning down into it.

Gilda laughs at him. “Dean, stop worrying about the flight. I refuse to tell you the statistics again.” She looks a little hilarious, dressed as some fairy from a show Dean’s never seen, pretty white dress stretched to breaking point over her enormous, eight-month baby bump.

“I told you, the facts don’t help,” Dean grumbles.

Charlie’s clearly trying to hide her amusement when she says, “Just think about Cas waiting for you back home!”

Dean continues scowling at his coffee and refuses to admit that the thought does actually soothe him.

***

“Oh fuck.”

Dean stops on his way to the rental car. “What’s up?”

Charlie pouts. “They forgot my brownie!”

“You’ll live.” Dean turns to keep walking.

“Oh, _fuck._ ”

“Gilda, it’s not that big of a deal,” Dean sighs and rolls his eyes.

“Not that,” Gilda’s voice sounds strained. “I think I’m in labour.”

“ _Oh, fuck!_ ”

***

Dean drives to the hospital, mind racing with no thoughts in particular, but many expletives.

“Aren’t you, I mean – isn’t this early?”

Gilda grunts from the back seat. “Yes, my due date is in a month. But it’s pretty common.”

“Come on baby, it’ll be okay. Breathe through it.” Dean can tell Charlie is about as freaked out as he is, and the thought brings him levity despite the stress of the situation.

They pull up outside and Dean lets them out before driving to the parking lot to find a space. Once he’s parked, he runs inside and up to the reception. “Hi,” he says, breathless. “My friends just came in – Charlie and Gilda – they’re having a baby.”

The receptionist smiles kindly and gives him the room number.

Charlie’s outside, on the phone, so he waits nervously by the door until she hangs up.

“Gilda’s mom,” she explains, pointing to the phone. “She won’t be able to come until tomorrow.”

Dean nods. “How’s she doing?”

“Gilda’s mom?”

“No you ditz, Gilda.” Dean smiles fondly.

“Oh, of course, um. She’s okay. They’re putting her on some awesome drugs right now, but they say it could be a while since it’s her first kid and all.”

“Right, cool,” Dean says. “Yeah.”

“Dean,” Charlie levels him with a look. “You’re not allowed to freak out here; I’m the one having a kid. One of us has to have a level head.” Her eyes go wide, and she squeaks: “I’m having a _kid_ , Dean!” She laughs shakily.

Dean doesn’t know what to say so he just wraps her up in a big hug. It seems to help.

***

He decides to call Cas to let him know they won’t be back tonight.

“Hey babe,” he says without really thinking about it. If Cas minds he doesn’t say.

“Dean? Is everything alright? You phoned like an hour ago.”

“Uh, yeah, we’re good, we just won’t be back tonight after all.”

“Why not?”

“Gilda’s gone into labour. We’re at uh, Abott Hospital, I think.”

“Oh my god,” Cas sounds genuinely panicked.

“It’s fine, Cas, she’s fine. I don’t know when we’ll get back, I guess it depends on how this all goes.”

“I’m coming.”

“Coming? Here?”

“Yes.”

“Cas I really don’t think you need to, we got this. Plus, Gilda’s mom is coming tomorrow.”

“I don’t care, they are my friends and I want to be there for them.”

“I guess; if you insist…”

“I’ll see you soon, Dean.” There’s a _click_ as Cas hangs up and Dean frowns down at his phone for a second before shrugging and pocketing it. Cas has been friends with Charlie longer than him, after all.

***

Dean snoozes in the waiting room, giving his friends some privacy. Every now and then Charlie comes out with an update. Things are moving slowly but smoothly, as hoped. There’s a small TV in the corner that plays too many ads and the sound is all crackly.

It’s quiet, at least, and Dean has a few decent micro-naps before he’s woken with a hand on his shoulder.

“Dean?” Cas’ face is hovering before his and Dean blinks awake, pulling his arms over his head in a bone-cracking stretch.

He smiles reflexively. “Hey, Cas.”

“How’s Gilda?” Cas asks, taking the seat next to Dean.

“She’s doing good – she’d probably like to see you, if you want.”

Dean points him in the right direction and then settles in to watch the crappy TV for a bit.

When Cas returns he looks calmer, if a little tired. He flops back down next to Dean. “What are we watching?”

***

It’s comforting, having Cas there. Dean’s never not been alone in a hospital waiting room, barring one time with Sam. It’s nice.

Eventually he falls asleep again, head pillowed on Cas’ shoulder, one hand tucked into Cas’ elbow. They are the only ones left in the waiting room, since it’s around five a.m., and Cas doesn’t seem to mind. His hand comes to rest over Dean’s.

He startles awake an indeterminable number of hours later at Charlie rushing through. She has deep circles below her eyes – which are frantic but excited. “It’s go time, boys.”

Dean’s about to tell her that he'll stay out here, when Cas stands beside him, Dean’s limbs detangling with the motion. So, Dean follows, a little unsure. “She’s okay with us being there?”

“Oh, yeah,” Charlie says flippantly, before glancing up at Dean, giving him a soft look. “Of course she wants you there. You’re our family.”

***

Dean had never seen anyone give birth before, and he never wants to again. He tries not to look at _the action_ , but it’s hard when Gilda is on all fours like a barn animal, Charlie by her head, pushing back her hair, a doctor at _the other end_ , a few nurses floating about the room. Cas, thankfully, has stayed with Dean by the wall on the outskirts, looking about as uncomfortable as Dean himself.

There’s a lot of grunting and groaning, but thankfully not much screaming, despite all Dean has seen in movies and TV shows.

All of Dean’s doubts and awkwardness fly out the window when it actually happens. A tiny, screaming, red-faced baby boy with a shock of black hair that Dean didn’t even know was possible is suddenly in the room with them. It is like he is the only thing in the room. He certainly is the most important. At some point, Dean had gripped Cas’ hand, and he is glad of it, the only thing grounding him.

“Holy shit.” He’s glad Charlie said it and not him, because coming from her it makes the nurses chuckle knowingly. She’s handed a bundle of white towels, and the look on her face is one of pure, unabashed wonder.

“C’mere.” Gilda has collapsed from her previous position and is sitting up in bed, the doctor doing something behind a sheet to her lower half that Dean is trying very hard not to think about.

***

Cas squeezes his hand.

“Get over here, guys,” Gilda says, sniffling.

They walk over and Dean looks down at the crimson pinched features of the scowling child. He looks angry at the world already. Dean is smiling uncontrollably down into blue, shining eyes.

“Hi, baby.” Cas reaches out and brushes a finger to the towel, expression mirroring Dean’s. “He’s beautiful.”

Charlie’s wiping away tears. “I know,” she says, then laughs quietly. “He has your eyes, Cas.”

Cas’ laugh is a low rumble. “He has Gilda’s frown.”

Dean looks dopily at the baby.

Then up to Cas.

Then at the baby.

“Thank you, Cas” Charlie says sincerely. “You have no idea how much this means to us.”

Then up to Cas again.

Then at the baby.

What…?

“Charlie, please, you guys deserve him.”

With startling clarity, the picture pulls into focus.

He looks up at Cas.

“You’re his dad?”


	25. Chapter 25

****

**25**

“Only in the most technical sense of the word,” Cas replies calmly, as if they're discussing the weather.

“How- what-“ Dean finds he suddenly cannot form sentences. “Did you have sex with Gilda?” For some reason that’s the question that escapes his mouth.

Cas looks up at him then, something shifting in his eyes. “I think we should go outside.” He takes Dean gently by the arm and leads him into the hallway. “No, I did not have sex with Gilda. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but she prefers different equipment.”

“So you… what, you jerked off into a turkey baster?”

Cas shrugs nonchalantly. “Pretty much. Although it wasn’t a literal turkey baster. They call them ‘disposable syringes’.”

Dean’s heart is beating funnily. “And when was this?”

“Charlie and I had been talking about it before I moved to Kansas. We started trying almost as soon as I arrived.”

His mouth is dry as sand. “And you never thought to _tell_ me?”

Cas looks a little uncomfortable at this, finally. “Well…” he begins, then trails off. “It seemed like something Charlie and Gilda should tell you, if they wanted.”

“Cas,” Dean scoffs. “You’re my…” he realises the way he was about to finish that sentence would have been a falsehood, so instead he opts for: “Friend.”

“I know, Dean,” Cas deflates a little. “I didn’t think it was that important!”

“You have a kid, Cas!” Dean’s voice is getting louder and Cas leads them farther from the room.

“He’s Charlie and Gilda’s,” Cas states firmly. “I only helped make it possible.”

“I don’t understand why you’re so calm about this.”

“I don’t understand why you aren’t.”

They stare one another down for a few moments before Cas cracks. “Look, I’m sorry, okay? I realise I should’ve told you. You’re… I care about you. And I shouldn’t have kept you in the dark. But Dean, this doesn’t change anything. I won’t be any more involved than I would have been if I wasn’t, technically, genetically related to the kid.”

Dean sighs. “Yeah, I get that, Cas, I do.” He takes a breath. “And I do think it’s pretty cool that you did that for them. It just makes me feel like I don’t matter if you don't tell me shit.”

Cas steps up and puts a hand on Dean’s jaw in a rare moment of affection. “Of course you matter,” he mumbles. “She got pregnant before we even… started any of this. My part was over, and part of me wanted to just forget that I had anything to do with it.”

Dean leans into the touch, his anger ebbing as quickly as it had arrived. “So,” he smirks at Cas. “How’s it feel to be a dad?”

Cas rolls his eyes and drops his hand, walking back to Gilda’s room. “I swear to god if you use this against me…”

Dean just chuckles and follows Cas back into the room, any trace of betrayal erased immediately at the sight of Charlie curled up on the bed with Gilda, the little bundle of joy cradled between them.

***

They make it back to Lawrence late the next day, all four of them exhausted. Dean goes back home with Cas and they collapse into bed together, falling asleep almost instantly, but not before he laughs quietly and says: “Heh, this ain’t so bad – the kid’s yours, but we don’t have to get up in an hour, every hour, to feed him and change his diaper.”

“I knew you’d come around to it.”

In the coming weeks and months, Dean and Cas do end up changing their fair share of dirty diapers, cleaning up unfortunate substances, going on errands, and generally helping out. They’re like a strange little family of four (five, if you count Meg, but Dean thinks she’s more like one of Cas’ stray cats, coming and going as she pleases and hissing; darting off at the first sign of trouble). Still, even she can’t hide the way her eyes crinkle when she holds baby James for the first time.

Castiel is unbelievably touched when they announce they have named their son after him. Dean is ashamed to admit that it is only at that point that he learns Cas’ middle name is James. Cas teases him about it for a week afterwards, claiming he has forgotten Dean’s name every time it comes up.

When Sam and Jess come down for Christmas, they fall in love with James instantly (as everyone seems to), and Dean can see baby-fever take over Jess by the end of day one. It looks like more wailing, pooping, vomiting bundles are in his future. He couldn’t be happier.

And as for him and Cas – that’s good too. There are times when Dean wishes idly that they could be _more_ , but as time goes on he comes to realise that there is no _more_. What he and Cas has is perfect – or as close to as Dean could ever have dreamed of – and just because he has been brought up to think a certain way about love and relationships doesn’t mean that that is the ideal. Cas helps him understand that, as does Meg. She loves them both, too, Dean comes to understand, and her being so open with welcoming Dean into their home, their unit, unclenches something within Dean, making him reconsider his preconceptions.

Cas sometimes has sex with other people, though not often, and he always makes sure Dean is okay with it first. The first couple of times it was weird, and awkward, and Dean couldn’t sleep knowing where Cas was. But then he would come into bed and snuggle up behind Dean, sigh happily, and Dean would let it all go. He has Cas, all of Cas that he can give, more of Cas than anyone else has, certainly. After a while he finds himself admitting he thinks it is a bit sexy, knowing that Cas is out there fucking some stranger while Dean waits for him at home – it is more to do with knowing Cas comes home only to him, shares soft touches only with him, but that doesn’t stop him enjoying it just a little.

He loves Cas so deeply, with so much of himself, that he knows there will never be anyone else. And Cas loves Dean too, in not quite the same way, though he tries. 

There is no wedding, no glitzy-romantic proposal, no white picket fence in Dean’s future. Not anymore. There’s only Cas, one person stretching as far as the eye can see into Dean’s future, and he fucking revels in it.

Really, Dean was never one to do things conventionally.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaand that's a wrap, folks! This was really fun to write, and I hope that if anyone got all the way through my too-many-commas and the rest of this nonsense that you enjoyed it. I've taken a long hiatus from writing but I really do enjoy it and I have so many Dean/Cas ideas rattling around this old head. Anything you have to say, good or bad, I'm all ears. Ta-ta for now!   
> -B


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